It may not be much of a deal to most Americans, but to we Philadelphians, Saturday is Flag Day. Betsy Ross was once a member of my church, Old St. George’s (America’s first and world’s oldest Methodist Church). Contrary to what the National Park Service contends, there is concrete proof she crafted the first American Flag. Philadelphians will gather for an observation in front of her home on Arch Street.

Another tradition is the annual radio broadcast "I am Your Flag" by Bob Nelson, aired on KYW 1060 AM, Philadelphia’s All-News station. KYW NewsRadio and its anchors are an institution matched perhaps only by its sister station, 1010 WINS in New York City, but that is a column for another day. You can listen to the famed broadcast by going to KYW1060.com. For all Americans who believe that patriotism is more than a four-letter word, here is "I am Your Flag."

Traditionalists say I was born of a woman's hand -- fashioned from bits of colored cloth by a seamstress in a small house in Philadelphia, a year after the new country was born.

Historians are less certain of my origin. Yet, no one doubts my existence.

I was created out of necessity to serve as the emblem of a people whose experiment in nationhood was as unique as the arrangement of my stars and stripes.

I have proved my adaptability to change. I've accommodated growth.

I've stood up to time and troubles. I fluttered in the Fall air with General Washington and his loyal French allies at Yorktown. My fabric was shredded by cannonballs from British frigates, in the War of 1812, and I was carried in triumph by Andy Jackson at New Orleans.

The British could see me clearly in the mists of "dawn's early light," waving from the standards at Fort McHenry.

I've witnessed turmoil and bitterness, even lost some of my glory in mid-century in a war between brothers, but I was restored as a nation's emblem at Appomattox.

I traveled West with the new frontier. I flew from the headlamps of the Iron Horse in Utah. I was with the prospectors at Sutter's Mill, with the cavalry against cattle rustlers, with the Rough Riders at San Juan Hill.

I crossed the Marne with the doughboys anxious to make the world safe for democracy.

I was with brave GIs storming the beaches at Normandy. I was raised over a shell-pocked hilltop at Iwo Jima and I stood by the grim-faced negotiators at Panmunjom. I was on that last helicopter from Saigon and with the men and women of Operation Desert Storm.

I have been around in victory and defeat. I've seen pleasure and pain.

I was raised over the rubble of the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Continued...