Freedom's Tree

She stood at the front of the classroom. She had a manly build that had more definition than a dictionary. She had manly hands, with both middle and ring fingers decorated with gaudy gold pieces. And a voice that boomed when it spoke. Quiet was not her gift. Even when her nose was placed within inches of yours. And you almost always knew what she had eaten by the smell of her breath and the bits of food, stuck in her gangly bottom teeth, that had regretfully forgotten to follow the rest of her lunch. If you were one of the lucky students, a drop of spit just might land on your cheek. Or worse, in your mouth.

Ms. Iacoboni. Civics Class. Grade 9.

Of what she lacked in hygiene and a feminine side, she made up for in passion. She is the reason I wince each time I witness an American flag being improperly treated. My stomach turns to see Old Glory tattered, or not properly lit at night, or hung incorrectly when placed on a wall, used as bandannas, or, God-forbid, touch the ground.

I learned to highly respect that Grand Ole Flag and the priceless symbols it stands for. But with Ms. Iacoboni, who had a choice? Her passion for our country was pure and zealous. She expected every American, of any age, to feel the same without exception.

My memory fails me when I try to recall the specifics of her classroom such as: her lessons or the assignments we were to accomplish. But one thing I could never forget: she taught me what it means to be an American.

Thank you to those of you who have fought, died, and currently serving to keep the American dream alive.

May we all make Ms. Iacoboni proud.

The patriot's blood is the seed of Freedom's tree.

Thomas Campbell

-Memorial Day 2010-