I remember standing and fidgeting to the interesting warbles, cackles, and occasionally wails of that tune as a little person in public school. We had those fabulous retro desks, wooden and one-piece at one time; if you valued your limbs, you never stuck your hand all the way to the back of the inside. However, rubbing tiny fingers across the centuries of old chewed gum on the bottom was a reasonable past time.
I have my moments when I am thrilled to stand in the "American" line, but then there are those other days.
One year for Christmas my husband and I gave each other DNA tests. Romantic, right?
He found out that his genes came from Mozambique and I found out that mine came from Nigeria (Yoruba, to be precisely imprecise).
And at that moment I got angry at my country.
Well, not at my country but at what has happened in my country's history.
I have ancestors I will never know, can't trace, and don't know the language of because of the Middle Passage.
Now, you may be wondering what all this talk of trousers and countries is all about? Blame it on the Daily Post pixies:
Are you patriotic? What does being patriotic mean to you?
And there you have it.