Flag Day, celebrated every June 14, is one of America’s lesser-known holidays, but my father never forgot it.

June 14 marks the day in 1777 when the Continental Congress officially adopted the Stars and Stripes as our national flag. Though President Woodrow Wilson established Flag Day by proclamation in 1916, it wasn’t made permanent until 1949, when President Harry S. Truman signed it into law.

For my father, born during the Great Depression, Flag Day was never just a footnote.

We got him a tall flagpole for his 65th birthday, shortly after he and my mother moved into a new house. He mounted it in concrete at the center of his long front yard. He maintained many flags over the years, replacing them as needed — until three years ago, when, at 89, he passed away.

As a boy, he grew up in a country rallying to defeat mighty foes in World War II. Drafted at the tail end of the Korean War, he served for two years. When he returned home, America was a place full of optimism and promise.

He and my mother married and raised six children. He worked hard for decades at the phone company and retired just shy of 60.

He ended up enjoying retirement for more than 30 years — something he never imagined. He once told me he didn’t expect to live past 70, let alone nearly 90. And he never expected to enjoy all of the material blessings he had.

He loved his country not because it was perfect — we’ve made many missteps in our history — but because it was always striving to improve. To my dad, the flag was a symbol of our constant striving.

In his view, America is exceptional because its people are free to speak, worship, create and build as they pursue their own happiness.

But somewhere along the line, the flag has become divisive in some circles — as though honoring it means ignoring our flaws or endorsing a particular political agenda.

My father knew that the opposite was true. He knew that preserving our freedoms requires vigilance and respect from every generation.

When he was young, people stood still when the national anthem played. Hats came off. Hands covered hearts. Nobody giggled through it. Nobody scrolled.

Now, too often, people are distracted — unaware of what the flag truly symbolizes.

In today’s divided times, we could use more subtle reminders of what unites us. The flag should be one of those reminders — not of politics, but of principles: freedom, responsibility, shared purpose and a continuous desire to improve.

I admit I never thought much about the flag when I was younger. It was just there — something I saluted by rote in school or saw at parades.

But over the years, as I watched my father quietly care for his flagpole and replace each worn flag with reverence, I began to understand what it meant.

My father taught me that patriotism isn’t about loud declarations — it’s about quiet gratitude, responsibility and doing your small part.

I am 63, nearly the age he was when we gave him that flagpole. It’s my turn to carry on.

I’m going to mix some concrete this weekend to erect a flagpole in my front yard — a pole that will proudly display the flag I inherited from my father three years ago.