Icons of Idolatry by Matt Copeland
Wal-mart was a jumbled mess. Stock was thrown everywhere on the shelves, crowds
were forming at every turn, and television sets in the electronics department
were turned up to spread the latest news from one end of the store to the other.
People packed themselves into every open space like football fans pushing into a
sold-out stadium. The public address speakers overhead belched out the calls of
employees looking for price checks. And from the far side of the store, the
smell of McDonald's French fries drifted toward the aisle where one would
normally find for sale a small selection of American flags. After the horrific
events of September 11th, however, the shelves were empty. I had gone to Wal-mart
for a simple reason-to buy an American flag to hang in my classroom.
Like everyone else, my hopes for buying an American flag were dashed that
Tuesday; the store, like other businesses in town, sold its last flag some time
earlier that afternoon. My desire, however, would not abate. Frustrated and
dismayed by what happened in New York and Washington, D.C., I was angry at being
made to feel vulnerable. Living in Kansas, I felt locked away from being able to
help, too far removed from Ground Zero to be of any assistance. I couldn't grab
a shovel to sort through the mountains of debris, or hold up a picture of a
missing loved one, or even volunteer to offer aid to those who could. I'm a
public school teacher--my role in the healing process is one of moral support
and reassurance-the improvement of the future.
That day at school we did our best to clear our minds of world events and focus
on the day's lesson-an in-depth discussion of the symbolic value of the green
light at the end of Daisy Buchanan's dock in The Great Gatsby. We discussed the
importance of its color-the prosperity, envy, lust. We discussed the importance
of the light itself-a beacon and an emotional call to arms. And we even
discussed the larger implications of the image-the desire for that which we
cannot have, the idea of new beginnings in a new world, the quest for the
American Dream. In fact, when one student suggested that the terrorists attacked
for all of the very things the green light symbolized, I had a hard time
disagreeing. Nevertheless, we went on with class; we weren't entirely successful
in clearing our minds of the tragedies going on in New York and Washington D.C.,
of course, but we struggled through.
In my preparations for the next school day I knew there was no way to simply
ignore the events of the day before or move on with "business as
usual" as our school's administration would have liked. We needed to take a
step back from the situation, reassure ourselves of our beliefs and our
convictions, and find a way-if ever so slowly-to begin moving on with our lives.
I understood what I needed to do in my classroom. I knew I had a very complex
and emotional body of information to convey to my students, that I didn't have
the luxury. But, I didn't have the luxury of time--my students were desperate
for it now. My mind raced back to the prior day's lesson-the power of symbols.
That evening, I found myself searching out a symbol of a very different kind. My
classroom needed a green light of its very own, an icon that would calm,
comfort, and reassure.
For more than three years I had taught in the same classroom and had never
realized that it was without a flag. I quickly questioned my own sense of
patriotism, the overwhelming sense of safety, security, and comfort I must have
felt to overlook something so important. More than anything, I wondered what my
father would have thought of me. A high school U.S. Government teacher for more
than twenty years, what would he have said about my gross negligence? How would
he have handled this situation in his classroom? What would he have said to his
students the next morning? And almost instantly I knew he would not have had to
say much-if anything-at all.
I can remember the appearance of my father's classroom quite well. A temporary
aluminum annex that was supposed to last for one year ended up lasting for
almost twenty, and Dad certainly made it his own. A firm-believer in the
strength of the American way of life, flags decorated almost every square inch
of free space in his classroom. Even his lapel was typically adorned with a
small, enamel pin of the flag. My father wouldn't have needed to say much to his
students after an experience such as 9/11; he operated his classroom as he lived
his life-free of fear, full of determination, eager to persevere.
My quest to find an American flag brought me to Wal-mart, itself is a symbol of
the American way of life, a place where people of all backgrounds converge. As I
drove aimlessly across town, racking my brain for a store that I had overlooked,
I thought hard about the power of symbols in our lives and their place in our
classrooms. Symbols have the power to transcend race, class, nationality, or
religion. In fact, modern culture has created a complete iconography to direct
us through our lives. Whether we find faith in the cross, pride in the emblem on
our sneakers, or food beneath the glow of the golden arches, symbols are our
guideposts. They communicate information that nurtures and even helps us
construct our identity. Living life without symbols would be like walking a
tightrope without a safety net. Sure, it can be done, but the stress may not be
worth it. I want to look down and be soothed by the knowledge that someone or
something is there to catch me if I fall.
The terrorists responsible for the acts of September 11th understood the value
of symbols. By turning our icons into targets, they tore the safety net from
underneath us, then laughed as we struggled to maintain our balance. But, the
bottom line is that symbols are just symbols. And while tangible symbols are
constantly changing and adapting, the invisible ideals they represent are more
enduring.
More than anything my experiences in searching for an American flag revitalized
my conviction in our profession. As teachers of literacy, we teach the power of
symbols everyday. We teach our students to react to, interpret, and analyze in
order to make their lives richer. Symbols are reminders of who we are and what
we believe--gods of our idolatry.
Like many Americans, my first inclination was to go out and purchase that which
would satisfy my need. Returning home from Wal-mart empty-handed, I darted
inside to check the top shelf of my hallway closet. There, neatly placed in a
box for protection, was the American flag the government presented my family at
my father's funeral. It was a flag I had never opened; one I quite honestly
tried to wash from my memory. My father was a Vietnam-era veteran. A quiet man,
he rarely spoke in kind terms of the two years he spent in Germany with the U.S.
Army. But his disdain for the military way of life was the result of bureaucracy
and mounds of paperwork, not for any lack of patriotic fervor. In the eyes of my
father, that flag represented everything he came home to, everything in his life
that was worth fighting for, everything he wanted for his family.
Removing the triangle-folded Glory from that box brought back a tremendous flood
of emotion. The careful stitches along each star and stripe, the soft smell of
cotton bunting, and the feel of material against my skin all reminded me of the
individuals who sacrificed their lives for the future of the country.
As I unfolded the flag for the first time, I realized it was enormous. More than
nine feet in length and five feet in width, it eventually covered an entire end
of my classroom and changed the atmosphere and climate within. It is precisely
what my classroom needed; perhaps it is something many Americans need-a renewed
understanding that the ideals, beliefs, and way of life symbolized by the flag
transcend momentary tragedy, no matter how catastrophic.
My search for an American flag brought me back home again-personally and
professionally. When I unfolded my father's flag, I regained an overwhelming
sense of purpose. I knew I could find no better symbol to hang in my classroom;
I could find no more appropriate way to display my sense of patriotism; I could
find no better lesson to teach. Since that day, I live and work in a classroom
transformed. Against the far wall my past, my father, my country, and my flag
watch over all that I do.
The symbol I had been seeking so fervently resided in the most uncommon of
places-my self.