THE WEATHERS REPORT 

THE WEATHERS REPORT

ONE CLASSROOM UNDER GOD News item, February 28, 2003: The United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit reaffirms its decision that the Pledge of Allegiance is unconstitutional because it contains the words “under God.” It’s 1954, and I’m eight years old. Every school-day morning in Miss Brawley’s third-grade classroom, my classmates and I gather around the American flag that hangs in the corner, put our hands over our hearts, and recite something called “The Pledge of Allegiance.” None of us knows exactly what a “pledge” is or what “allegiance” means, but we do it every morning, solemnly, because we’re just kids, and Miss Brawley, behind her rimless glasses, is a grown-up. In the world of third grade, kids do what grown-ups tell them. Only bad kids don’t. Sometimes sullen Wayne Hudson refuses to say the pledge. Instead, he sits at his desk, staring straight ahead, arms crossed. Wayne, we all think, is a bad kid, and we stay away from him at recess. One morning during this year, 1954, Miss Brawley tells us to add a couple of new words to our ritual. The words are “under God.” I’m eight years old. I’m a good kid. I add “under God” the way I’m told. It even makes sense, because I know all about God from Sunday school: he’s a big white-bearded old man, white like me, in white robes up in the white clouds. Of course our nation is “under” him. I’m eight years old. What I don’t know then is that this is how it happens: This is how a government takes a religious idea and drips it into the brains of its kids. It starts with the president (Eisenhower, say), and it seeps down through Congress and the state legislatures and the local school boards (enemies, all, of godlessness), and finally it filters through poor Miss Brawley into the brains of the children. And the child who resists--well, he is, ipso facto, a bad child. A child like Wayne. I’m eight years old. All I know is that our morning ritual is a little boring--less meaningful than the jumping jacks we do in gym. I’ve never heard of the “establishment clause,” so I don’t yet know that the whole affair is unconstitutional on the face of it. I don’t yet understand that, despite this, no public official dares speak out against “under God” if he wants to get re-elected. I’m eight years old. I haven’t yet read Alexis de Toqueville, so I don’t yet know about “the tyranny of the majority.” (I think Wayne Hudson knew.) I’m eight years old. I don’t think to ask: What kind of nation is so insecure that it requires a daily loyalty oath from its third-graders? And I donÔt think to ask: What god? Which god? Whose god? I’m eight years old. I don’t understand that I don’t have to say the pledge, I don’t have to say “under God.” Hey, you don’t want to make Miss Brawley mad. So I say “under God” the way the President and Joe McCarthy and Miss Brawley want me to. . . . Now it’s 2003, and I’m 57 years old. Now I wonder why God has been stamped on our coins and chiseled into our courthouses and invoked in our city halls and congressional chambers. You see, I think of God a bit differently now. Of Wayne Hudson, too. I’m 57 years old, and I don’t want my child every day being asked to give voice to a religious idea that has the whole weight of the government--not to mention his teacher and all his classmates--behind it. I’d prefer that my government didn’t hand us God, gods, anybody’s god. But of course the majority thinks otherwise. And after all, with their hands over their hearts and their eyes on the flag, they’re the good kids.

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