Allegiance

ALLEGIANCE
ZOOEY TRENCH STOOD AT THE FRONT of the classroom, watching her fifth grade students recite the American Pledge of Allegiance:
"I pledge allegiance
To the flag
Of the United States
Of America. . . ."
Etc.
Zooey watched and said nothing, did not even pretend to mouth the words–-just stood there close-lipped and straight.
Back in the fall, with the beginning of the school year, all of the students in all of the classes at Eggnog Elementary began the day with the Pledge of Allegiance. Miss Trench never led her students in the Pledge of Allegiance. She didn’t need to; the students themselves rose from their seats at the sound of the bell and began the recitation on their own. Zooey never joined in. She would never disrupt, but she would never join in. If she happened to be at the back of the room, she’d pause and stand still and quiet for the few moments it took for the students to complete the task. And if she were at the front of the class, she’d also pause and give her respect as well. But she would never repeat the words of the Pledge of Allegiance.
One of the students, a little Republican in the first row, Richard Smith, asked her on a regular basis why she refused to say the Pledge. But Zooey would always dismiss him–-or ignore him–-with, "All right, students, let’s get out our math books and turn to page 28." Or page 34. Or page 106.
Once, during a history lesson--the unit discussing the pilgrims and Thanksgiving--Richard raised his hand high and asked his question for the entire class to hear: "Miss Trench, why don’t you say the Pledge of Allegiance with us each day?"
Zooey wanted to tell the student that it was none of his damn business. But instead, she just smiled and said, "Benjamin Franklin thought that the national bird should be the turkey, not the bald eagle." And that began a whole new discussion, one much more interesting, for the students, than any questions of allegiance.
As the school year progressed, routines set in; and once that begins, one of the teacher’s primary responsibilities becomes to somehow strike a balance between the required monotony in the classroom and its potential chaos.
Richard Smith kept pestering Miss Trench, asking her why she would not join in with the Pledge. And Zooey always handled his questions as smoothly as she could: inviting him to erase the chalk board; or to empty the waste baskets; or to run down to the principle’s office to inquire about the air conditioning.
Then one day, Zooey noticed that young Richard himself was not reciting the words of allegiance. The rest of the class had begun, but Richard stood there with his mouth closed, staring at the flag, saying nothing. Nothing, that is, until the class reached the critical line, "under God." Richard repeated these two gentle words, but then returned to his prior silence.
For a good week, Zooey observed Richard as he tested his new-found strength. She noted how at first he’d stand motionless, his head up, his right hand across his chest, seemingly not wanting to stand out in the least, to blend in with the other students in the class-–in all ways but one: his silence. Later, as he grew more accustomed with his actions, he became more comfortable, less rigid: more of an American.
Perhaps because Zooey was so focused on him, she did not immediately notice what was happening with the other students during the Pledge of Allegiance. The room was becoming less loud during the opening service because some of the other students were now experimenting and omitting their own words.
Zooey Trench began to pay more and more attention. To be sure, most of the students were still reciting the Pledge in its entirety, but a growing minority was remaining quiet-–or at least choosing which words to speak and which ones to omit. It was becoming a fascinating mix, Zooey thought.
But then, just after the X-mas holiday break, some of the students who had been quiet during certain points of the Pledge began to introduce their own material. They began, for instance, replacing the words of the Pledge with historical facts they had learned during the school year–-slavery, women’s suffrage, manifest destiny and the role of war, incarceration, racial profiling, economics; some introduced the poetry they had been studying, particularly Gertrude Stein, e.e. cummings, A.F. Caldiero; mathematics and the idea of zero. One of the students began inserting her own writings and ideas. Another brought out his hackey sack and kicked it around for the 15 seconds the other students were either still reciting the Pledge of Allegiance or making their own contributing statements to the morning exercise. Some remained seated; others removed their shoes, and then replaced them when the Pledge was over.
Richard wrestled with God.
Zooey was thrilled by the experimentation, by the variety, by the innovation, the freedom, and for which it all stands.
And then one day, while some in the class were reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, one student walked up to the flag which leaned at an angle from its holder on the wall, and spread the fabric out flat against the wall and wrote with a black permanent marker pen across the red and white stripes the one word, "Guilty." At first, many of the students became shocked–-some even angry-–at the expression. Zooey herself held back a gasp. But after waiting a moment, letting the initial outrage mature and develop, and then allowing the questions to stir inside their own minds, the class seemed to reach an understanding of the purpose of the Pledge of Allegiance. They began looking for the letter a in the word ox.
Zooey became more of student herself; she became more of a teacher. Richard asked her if she had ever in her entire life recited the Pledge of Allegiance. She replied, quoting Salvatore Dali, "Beauty is simply the total consciousness of our perversions."
In the spring, just before Easter, a number of the students, during the Pledge, walked up toward the flag and removed it from its narrow pole. They took it to one of the desks and began tampering with the flag, taking bits of their own clothing, or tearing out pages from their textbooks, or cutting locks from their own hair, or going outside and gathering the leaves and grass and pebbles, and then glueing or stapling or taping-–or even just holding together with their own saliva--these new emblems onto the flag. The flag no longer looked much like the original stars and stripes. In truth, it resembled more an oily rag that might have been dragged behind a pick-up truck with a Confederate flag license plate or maybe just an old bird nest that had survived a heavy winter storm. But the students were proud of their work nonetheless. They’d made it themselves, and now that they had made it, they could pledge allegiance to it in whatever form they chose, without the fear of blasphemy or patriotism.