My third period started like any other. I was two minutes late but still there before the teacher. I sat in one of the patronizingly colorful desks that would look more at home in an elementary school. Pulling my laptop from my book bag, I set it in front of me as the daily announcements rang out in a energetic tone: “Gooooood morning! Happy hump day! Please rise for the pledge of allegiance.”

Feeling thankful that I was not in a position where I had to sound cheerful every morning, I watched everyone stand. I slumped back comfortably in my chair.

“I pledge allegiance...”

‘I wonder if I finished my English homework for today.’

“to the flag...”

‘I’m hungry. I think I forgot to eat breakfast this morning.”

“of the United States of America....”

“MOLLY!” The sharp sound of my name made me jump.
“Yes?” I asked my teacher in an overly polite tone. Irrational anger is almost always thwarted by irrational cheerfulness.
“Stand up,” she ordered. I blanched, not sure what to say.
“Oh, um... No thank you. I don’t stand for the pledge,” I said uncomfortably. I hadn’t stood all year, I didn’t know why she was making a fuss of it now. But I did know that I didn’t like being forced to do something I didn’t agree with. I don’t know why. It may be because I have an inflated sense of respect for personal freedoms. It also may be that I’m a terrible person who enjoys making my teacher’s job difficult.
Regardless of the reason, I hate it. It makes me feel small and unimportant. I’m forced to spend seven hours a day, five days a week in an establishment where I need permission to use the restroom. My allowance of personal decisions and freedoms were limited enough already. I couldn’t lose this, too.
“You have to stand. You don’t have to say it, but you have to salute.”

“one nation, under God...”

I felt as if I’d heard “checkmate” from the opposing end of a chess board. Inwardly disappointed, I cringed and tipped my king over. I rose and placed my hand on my chest.

“indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

I sat back down, fully aware of the tension in the room and the many eyes darting from me to the teacher. I felt irritated beyond reason. How could someone believe in liberty and justice for all, but force ideals of patriotism on the people around them?

I don’t exactly know why I don’t stand for the pledge. I guess it just always seemed weird to me. I was pledging full allegiance to a country before I even knew how to tie my own shoes or spell my middle name. (I was kind of a slow kid in the education department). After I realized how weird it was, I didn’t really want stand up and mindlessly spit out the words programed into me. That epiphany of aberrance reared it’s ugly head around the eighth grade.

Until that morning, I had never been challenged on my lack of participation in the daily patriotic formality. I had almost forgotten I was taking a political stand (or seat, as the case was). For the most part, I believe in the ideals stated in the pledge. I believe in justice, liberty, unity, and acceptance. I also happen to believe in personal freedom and separation of church and state. I wasn’t allowed to respect my own belief that morning. I was forced to stand. I was forced to put my hand over my heart. I was forced to respect “respect” instead of respect myself. In summary: I was pissed.

I sat in cold disgust for the rest of the period, but I decided I wasn’t going to feel better by fuming. I don’t do well with grudges: I either shut the person who wronged me out of my life or fight back. But you can’t really break up with your teacher, so I was left with one option.

I stopped by the office at lunch, hoping that the principal would be there. He was not. In hindsight, this was a blessing. It allowed me time to calm down enough not to say something unflattering about lovely educators and their arbitrary despotism. More importantly, I had time to build my case.

Incidentally, my last period class was Government. My teacher had already heard of the morning’s incident, and was very excited that I had put a case together and was going to challenge the order to stand up. In fact, she was so excited, she went over everything with me: my court cases, the handbook, what I wanted out of the principal, and what to do if I didn’t get want I wanted. She then excused me from class to try to meet the principal before school was out. I waited in the office, holding my folder and staring off into space. School ended and the principal was still in a conference. The secretary became more and more irritated. Evidently, she wasn’t allowed  to close up shop until the principal dealt with me. She began sending him passive-aggressive emails until he finally ended his meeting and invited me in.

I was invited to sit at a chair across from his desk. I explained what had happened. I handed him the handbook with highlighted text and the court cases surrounding students’ rights regarding participation in patriotic traditions. I was expecting an instant dismissal of my perceived problem, a defense of the teacher. I have never had much luck in problem solving with the people who were causing my problems.

“I’m really excited to look more in to this, Molly,” he said. “I’m really into this kind of ‘stick it to the man’ stuff. I’ll look more into this and try to find out what is required for you. Can I keep this?” He asked, gesturing to my file.
“I... Uh, of course. Yes!” I said, feeling flustered at the reaction. I walked out of his office into the waiting room, which was already dark and abandoned. It was five o’clock. I swung my book bag over my shoulder and started walking home.

About two weeks later, I was called to the office before class started. Curious as to what I had done this time, I made my way down the poorly lit hallways. The principal invited me to sit down and handed me a paper of Alaska’s education standards and regulations. I skimmed it and looked back up. “This doesn’t really say anything.”

“Exactly!” He exclaimed jovially. He proceeded to explain that, with no specific rule being applied to the school district or state, no one could make me stand. “I’m going to send out an email to all the teachers telling them not to make their students stand if they chose to sit respectfully.” I walked back to my class feeling elated.
I learned a fair bit through my experience. I learned that people don’t always know my rights, and it is my responsibility to stand up for myself. I learned that a lot can be accomplished quickly if I slow down and don’t wear myself out being unintelligibly angry. I also learned that not all educators are trying to inhibit me or undermine what I want or believe in—granted, there are a fair number, but that’s just par for the course if you’re teenager. But maybe most importantly, I made a case for the admirable belief, “Dissent is the highest form of patriotism.”