“I meant we have some educated folks right heah at the table. Gary, he has one of them Master’s degrees, Bubba has a Bachelor’s degree, Willy, you been to technical school to learn how to make cabinets out of empty fifty-five gallon oil drums, I got me one of them Associate degrees, and Maude has a degree from the redneck school of hard knocks.”

“Uncle Ben, that Dean feller, he don’t mean there ain’t no educated rednecks. What he means is we don’t dance to the music his fiddle is playin’.” Bubba said, and for once I was surprised by his statement. See, the comment was pretty deep for Bubba.

“Well, you know what he can do with his fiddle and his music don’t ya?” Willy said with a loud laugh. I watched as he opened his chewin’ tobacco pouch and place a world’s record chaw in his left cheek.

“And, the horse he rode to Washington on too!” Ben added.

“What is all the uproar oveh the Confederate flag? It is just a bunch of stars and bars on a red material.” Maude asked and I could see she was really confused over the issue.

“Maude, some folks still see the rebel flag, or Southern flag, as a symbol of resistance. They see it as a sign of slavery and bondage of our fellow man. They see it as a rally point for Southerners.” I gave her all I knew about the subject and then took a drink of my cold beer.

“Horse feathers,” Ben said.

Willy pick up an empty beer can, let loose a stream of brown juice into it, and then said, “You know, the Civil War’s been over fer more than a hundred and thirty years. When are folks a-gonna leave us alone? We don’t want nothin’ from ‘em. We don’t give ‘em no trash when they spike their hair, pierce their private body parts, listen to music with no intelligence, or when they cain’t sit still fer more than ten minutes without usin’ a cell phone or a computer.But, I draw the line when they attack our flag or our culture.”

“Willy, y’all jess slow down a bit. It was jess a statement from some politician that don’t know nothin’ about us. Now the boy is scared he will lose some votes over the comment.” I added, hoping to defuse the situation.

“Let his buns come down heah, and he will lose more than jess a few votes. I’d be on him like a hungry chicken on a Junebug. I hate ignorant people,” Bubba said with a very serious face on him. I knew, beyond a doubt, my boy was mad.

“Bubba. Bubba. Bubba, he ain’t worth the trouble. You can always tell a politician, but you cain’t never tell ‘em much. He has his mind made up and knows what he thinks, so don’t confuse ‘em with facts. Let it go,” Uncle Ben spoke, sipped his beer, and then let out a loud burp.

Suddenly, Bubba let out a loud laugh, looked at each of us and said, “Ya know, I’m proud to be an American! You see, don’t you? Don’t y’all see! I mean, listen to our talk heah.”

Now I was really confused. I had no idea where the boy was in this conversation so I asked, “Bubba, what are you talkin’ about?”

“No, Gary, you don’t understand. See, only in America we all disagree ‘bout things. Oh, we stomp and yell, and we carry on, but deep inside we’re all Americans. We CAN DO THAT! We expect to be able to do that! And, that’s why each of us at this table served in America’s wars, so we could do that!”

I realized right then and there, Bubba was right. We, all of America’s Vets, had fought our countries wars, so all Americans had the right to do just that—agree to disagree. Yep, we fought for the rights of all Americans to be free, not just for Southerners or the Yankees. We knew, each of us, the high price paid for our countries freedom, because we had seen the mangled bodies and the unseeing eyes of the dead. We knew, yes, we knew, in our hearts, that as Americans we had paid a price that was worth the cost. We all felt a pride in being Americans and of having helped preserved our nation’s freedom. And, what made me the proudest was the observation came from Bubba Lee.

Bubba, I love ya old son!

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