I’m so British, there’s really very little mistaking me for anything else. I’m drinking my morning tea as I type, for heaven’s sakes. I love my home, and miss my family and the hills of Derbyshire, and the shady Thames-side Path in Richmond. I’ve even been known to defend the Royal family as a British institution.
None of which explains why I find myself with a lump in my throat every time I hear the US National Anthem. I love the way my temporary home embraces its armed forces, thanking its service men and women at every opportunity. I think it’s wonderful how everyone stands, hand on heart, with their hats removed at the sound of the Star Spangled Banner.
On Friday night at the NASCAR, I did it again. I stood with the other 75, 000 people in the Grandstand, a thing that we have decided to do, out of respect, at every sporting occasion when the announcer asks the gentlemen to remove their hats. And although I’m very British, what with the tea drinking and the polite stiff upper lip thing, I felt a few tears sting my eyes as the singing concluded and the incredible fly-by was applauded.
As this wise lady commented on my last post, I think the US has gotten to me. I do love this place.
Happy Love Thursday, a group feature hosted by ShutterSisters.
LivinginChicago 