Home of the brave...

My first job on campus at BYU was working in the Media Center in the Fletcher building. It was by divine design that I got that job. One day I went to visit my brother, Adam, who worked downstairs in the main section of the Fletcher Building and he said, "Hey, come upstairs with me." I followed him and he took me into the office of a skinny guy with black hair. He was a very nice, but intimidating man. Adam happened to mention that I needed a job and the man responded that he had an opening. Just like that I had a job.

It was a good job, one that I both loved and hated. See, I'm not really a technological person and that was basically what my job consisted of. I had to copy tapes into different formats, record devotionals, play general conference over BYU TV, and many other things all requiring some knowledge of technology.

Well, my knowledge was very limited. My family didn't even own a TV until I was 15.

I had only worked a day or two before I was left to my own devices for my first Saturday alone. When I say alone I mean that there was maybe two other people working in the entire building. I worked upstairs in this dark room with about twenty tv monitors on the walls, a computer, a film reel, and a big VCR to convert movie formats. The only window in the entire room was located behind the wall with all the tv screens (where all the archives stayed).

I was supposed to have security clearance when I swiped my card but someone forgot to give me the access so when I swiped my card and walked into the room the alarms all went off.

Here I am, just barely 18, a little newbie freshman setting off all the alarms. When the police showed up I fumbled my way through an explanation and then waited nervously while they phoned my boss to confirm my story.

After setting all the alarms off, I proceeded to break a very old film that was scheduled to be playing in the library. I hadn't been trained on what to do if a film breaks so I un-threaded it and threw it away.

That was the wrong choice to make.

Never, ever, throw a film away.

Ever.

There were things I loved about this job. Like having my brother work downstairs. That was fun. Another benefit of working there was that while I couldn't go to the devotionals, I had to record them all so I got to sit in my comfy chair and watch devotional every Tuesday.

Probably my favorite thing about my job was when my schedule worked out just right so that it was my job to press the big red button on the wall that broadcast the National Anthem across campus. I'd imagine, from my little windowless cave, that all the students walking past the Fletcher building were really little ants doing their business and then all the sudden I'd press the button and all the ants would stop and freeze as if in some trance. Then I'd press the button again and they'd all go back to their work.

My schedule didn't allow for this to happen often, but when it did, I enjoyed it.

Later, when I got a different job, I'd walk on my way home and hear the familiar crackle of the speakers engaging and then the National Anthem and I'd become one of those ants, only this time I wasn't just staring off in some trance, I was singing along in my head (and sometimes I'd think curses about the people not standing still while the anthem was playing).

It's been a long time since I've been on BYU campus, about six years, and I find myself only hearing the National Anthem once or twice a year.

Except this week I've heard it twice. I've found myself twice on base at 5:00 PM when the National Anthem is played. Both times I've felt a surge of patriotism and happiness to be an American citizen.

One of these times we were swimming at the base pool (free for us) when the clock struck 5:00 and retreat started. The pool, filled minutes before, was emptied in two second flat as everyone scrambled to stand and salute the flag.

Mike, being a serviceman, stood with his arms behind his back (at parade rest), and then held them to his side with his fists balled (at attention) during the anthem. I stood with my hand over my heart. Isaac wanted to be just like his dad and held his hands behind his back and whispered loudly to Will, "Put your hands behind your back." Eli, well, he was another matter altogether. He thought the music was supposed to be danced to and did a little jig.

I couldn't help but smile as I watched the boys (excluding Eli) showing their reverence to the National Anthem and I felt proud standing next to Mike knowing that he is serving our country. Sometimes our lives seem so normal that I forget that we are a military family. But occasionally, I have an experience where I remember what it is that we move around all the time for.

I hope that in the coming years our boys will feel that same surge of patriotism in their hearts when they hear the National Anthem and that they will feel proud of their grandfather, uncles, and dad for serving our country.

And, probably they will realize before I did that they aren't just little ants staring in a trance when the familiar melody is played, but citizens of a wonderful country, saluting the flag and celebrating their freedoms.