I love a parade

Veterans' Day is a big deal here, given the island's military history (Com- modore Porter's Anti-Pirate Squadron took charge in 1823; the Union held us tight during the Civil War; we were the Gibraltar of the Caribbean during World War II and I won't even get into the Cuban Missile Crisis) and current interests: the headquarters of Joint Interagency Task Force South, the Naval Air Station, a big Coast Guard facility.

So the parade is always a good one, and I got out my best red, white and blue shirt -- the "Key West for Obama" number, since opposing the war doesn't mean opposing the troops (check out VoteVets.org for some true snapshots in courage) -- and tootled over to Duval.

The shirt got more smiles and nods from the marching squaddies, swabbies, grunts and jarheads than I could have expected, and the high school's Marching Conchs choked me up likewise with their version of "America the Beautiful."

It was pretty big for our little island: 45 minutes of marchers from every service, floats, bands, vets, pipers, ex-POWs, scouts, auxiliaries and flags, flags, flags. I waved a tiny one that a Navy League guy was handing out, and I clapped and sang along.

It made me think of something from the Leonard Pitts column I quoted last week:

". . . We have loved America when America did not love us, defended America when it would not defend us, believed in American ideals that were larger than skies, yet never large enough to include us. We did this. For years unto centuries, we did this. Because our love for this country is deep and profound. . . ."