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Writer's pictureRachel Weidner

I looked down, about to scold him, when I saw his hand over his heart.

Updated: May 25, 2020





We live on a military base along the east coast. Every day from 5:00 to 5:01 the national anthem is played across the loudspeakers. If you are outside during that time, whether you're playing in the front yard, hauling groceries to the front door, walking into the library, or putting your kids in their car seats, if you hear the trumpeted warning, you either scramble back inside or stand still. You either "escape" having to wait a minute or you face the music or nearest flag and hold your hand over your heart. Last night, I was really happy when I realized we were exiting the gate at 4:58. We were on our way to pick up food and I was starving. It had been a long day. And not having to stop the car and turn on the safety hazard for that brief minute felt like such a relief. The takeout restaurant we were headed to shares the same street as the base entrance, and as I parked the truck and got out, I could hear the anthem music playing. I barely even registered it because we weren't on base. It didn't apply to me or what I was doing. Then I pulled my son out of his seat and set him down on the concrete. He froze. Again, I didn't register what he was doing. I tugged on his arm to direct him to the other side of the truck so we could get his sister, and he uncharacteristically pulled it away. I looked down, about to scold him, when I saw his hand over his heart. He doesn't know the difference between being on base or off. He just knows when he hears the music, he's supposed to stand still and place his hand across his chest. As a toddler, knowing what to do and what is expected is exciting. He craves understanding the next step. He wants to do what's right. But the integrity I glimpsed as he ripped his arm away from he- as he held fast and stood firm- brings tears to my eyes. He knew what to do even when I wasn't doing it, and he did it anyway. We live on a military base. I see people in uniform all the time. But my favorite heroes are the small ones. The ones who hold the door open. The ones who let a tired momma and her two kids go first in line. The ones who check in on co-worker's families when their spouses are deployed. The ones who place tiny hands over their hearts and stay strong and hold true.



This story originally appeared on my Facebook page at Forever Dreaming Writing by Rachel Weidner. Come join our community for more encouraging content and heartfelt stories!

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