When I was younger I went through my "Chomsky stage." I listened to punk, read Chomsky and Zinn and reveled in being an outsider. I was all cynic and nihilist, as many young people are. But it only went so far. Deep down, I didn't want to feel that way - negative about my society, my culture, my country. No, I was just a kid, trying on a set of clothes for a while to see how they felt, and sadly there were plenty of others around me to tell me, "It looks good on you..." Chomsky is a hairdresser on the political journey of life.

But I eventually grew out of it. I should feel lucky, I guess, some people get stuck in that stage forever. Now, I didn't grow out of it completely - the cynic still remained, although somewhat subdued inside me, he was covered over with the layers of life experience and a little more realistic and mature understanding of the way the world works. Still, you can take the student off the campus, but you can't completely remove the campus from the student.

Growing up in New England, it's difficult to avoid being weened on the stories of the patriots of Lexington and Concord (I pray that's still the case - I suppose we'll find out when our daughter is old enough to start attending to school.). That's what the peddlers of history's "alternative narratives" are trying to pry out of us - this societal cultural memory that's served the nation so well all these years.

And in my case, they almost succeeded. But not completely. The tri-cornered hat had gotten to my heart first, years before the peace signs and the tie-dye.

Still and all, despite my yearning to feel some attachment to the flag, the nation...to expunge my cynicism...the hook never fully came.

Then I watched the planes hit the buildings on 9-11, and for a brief moment, amidst the horror and the rage, I felt...relief. Here, at last, is a moment, an event as catalyst, to come together in a pure sympathetic issuance of patriotism. It was comforting and welcome. Here it is, a chance to stand behind the flag with no sense at all of cynicism. A chance to stand in common cause with other citizens who, I would hope like me, would understand that for all the bickering we do, we still have it pretty good. A liberating moment.

How disappointing to read, almost immediately, so many so called intellectuals who were all too quick to start writing (or was it really just a more grown up version of stomping their feet for attention) about how it was all our fault.

Don't they want this feeling too? Do they really want to wallow in a cesspool of ire and anger and self-destruction? They must in order to miss this opportunity and instead find more common cause with the enemy than with their fellow man.

But they did. For some, 9-11 and the months since have been just a catalyst for a different kind of choice for belonging than the one I made. This was a choice to finally emulate not the lives of patriots, but the lives of the protesters of the '60's and '70's. Here was their hook, not to come together to build up their country (The red-coats are coming, to arms, to arms!), but to kick it in the knees once again for this generation (Tin soldiers and Nixon's coming...). Whatever the justifications for the protests of that bygone era were, and I'm not arguing here pro or con, it ought to be agreed that at best what happened was necessary, and not something we should be seeking opportunity to repeat. One Vietnam was enough. Now one might be able to accept the idea that the protesters of the day (many of them, anyway) did what they did for love of country. Fair enough. But grasping for the next chance to repeat the trauma is perhaps too much love, or more likely, no love at all.

Anyway, those are just a few thought engendered by reading this entry at Atlantic Blog about The Guardian's taking the example of two, count 'em, two American soldiers running off to Canada and desperately grasping, as only The Guardian can do, to draw a Vietnam parallel.

Sjostrom: