I often find a sense of smug humor when people bash the south. (For you international folks, I’m referencing the Southeastern part of this country) Typically it paints a picture of back woods, bible thumping, no teeth having, redneck, cousin fuckers. I was born and raised here in the South and not once have I ever had sex with my cousin. I have all my teeth. I’ve traveled around the world. I work in corporate America in a job a ton of  people would love to have in a pay grade well above the average 30 year old. Along side the very southern things I like to do (watch the race, cook pigs, drink sweet tea, etc…) I also attend the theater, cook several different cuisine types, and enjoy reading. (Yes, some of us down here know how to do that too)

This post, however, is not to defend or make excuses for my bible thumping, cousin fucking brethren – but to illustrate something that I think is lost in all the Jeff Foxworthyisms and Larry the Cable Guy’s stupid ass. It was highlighted at the Bristol race that I was lucky enough to attend. At the pre-race ceremony there were some military personnel on hand – they happened to arrive by jumping out of a plane. This, of course, is all part of the spectacle but it did set up something that caused me to choke up a little with pride.

After each branch landed with their flag (Army flag, Marine Corp flag, etc..) someone jumped with the American flag. After he landed, a giant flag was run out on the track by some folks and just held there. The PA announcer introduced some local families who had recently lost loved ones over seas. They also introduced the wounded warriors as guests of honor. The applause was nothing like I’d ever heard. When they started naming the names of the fallen soldiers/marines and the wives, sisters, and children were getting emotional – looking around you could tell people were getting misty eyed. You couldn’t help feel for these very exposed and obviously in pain families – and then in unison, 150,000+ people did something that I haven’t seen since grade school – we said the Pledge of Allegiance.  Without prompt or fail, all hats were taken off, everyone was standing, and everyone was looking at this big flag on the track.  There was a fly by of some very fast moving fighter jets and then 150,000+ people sang along to “Proud to be an American”.  A group of school children were up next to sing the Star Spangled Banner. It was at that moment people from all over the track started taking out flags, some little ones on a stick like at the 4th of July parade , some that took 3-4 people to hold open. Everyone sang along and cheered just as loud when that was over, for the kids singing, for the warriors down on the infield, for the veterans in the crowd that were previously called out than they did for “Drivers, start your engines” call made fifteen minutes later.

My previous sporting events had taught me that the National Anthem was simply a formality before the first pitch or before the coin is tossed. There are people that talk through it, don’t take off their caps, or in some cases, don’t even stand as it’s being played. I think that’s part of the reason it was such a big deal – this was not just some 3 minute song that people “had” to stand for and endure – this was some good old fashioned Southern manners and respect for tradition.

I rarely get worked up emotionally about public displays of anything. It’s just not worth my time or energy – but there was a charge in the air with this event, this group of people. Looking around at all these “dumb hicks” taking hats off, not having to tell their kids to do the same, singing like no one is around, and displaying flags just because they could – I couldn’t help but be moved and be proud of “my people”.

I know, in the end, that Marine on the infield will never get his hand back. I know the race nor the recognition will give him that. I think everyone down to the last man, woman, and child however, wanted that Marine from Tennessee that his people loved him – for what he did, for what he lost, and for what he endured.

National pride is not a sole possession of the South, but in all the events I’ve been to big and small, there was nothing that’s ever felt like this. This was simply genuine love, genuine appreciation, and genuine respect.

I’d like to thank those 149,999 people that I didn’t know at the race for offering up that little ray of  light that I so very desperately (though unknowingly) needed to feel.