Joe Kennedy

Joe Kennedy is routinely named the region's best writer by readers of The Roanoker magazine.

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There I was Wednesday night, standing onstage at River's Edge Park in Roanoke during The Roanoke Times Music for Americans Fourth of July concert and fireworks show.

Before me in the gathering dark were thousands of people of all ages.

A few inches away stood a microphone -- a lethal invention that has toppled the careers of misspeaking politicians, embarrassed emcees at thousands of banquets and brought criminal charges against rock vocalists who dared to take freedom of speech to unacceptable limits, back when such limits existed.

My mission: to go mano a mano with the evil device and successfully deliver the Pledge of Allegiance.

I wasn't nervous until somebody told me a few days earlier not to leave out "under God."

Suddenly, that's all I could think about -- excluding two words that I'd grown up including in the pledge every morning of my Catholic school life.

In Jesuit high school, we had to write the letters AMDG at the front of our blue books before every test.

The letters stand for the Latin words "Ad maiorem Dei gloriam," which mean "For the greater glory of God."

My efforts seldom approached that lofty goal, but I know all about God.

Still, memories of public, patriotism-related gaffes by celebrities such as Willie Nelson and Roseanne Barr interrupted my sleep. Sure, they survived, but they goofed up in major cities full of godless sophisticates.

I was to perform in Roanoke -- the land of the free and home of the brave in a valley of churches devoted to the tried-and-true -- no improvising allowed.

My reputation as a proud, God-fearing American hinged on my ability to deliver a flawless pledge.

My kids said not to worry. They would come and offer moral support. If things went badly, they'd serve as human shields while we raced to the car under a shower of snow cones, corn dogs and complimentary, Frisbee-like flying discs.

The concert began. The moment arrived. I strode to the side of the stage. The flag bearer joined me.

Then we were standing in the spotlight before thousands of languid celebrants, the microphone violating my personal space like a cop trying to smell alcohol on a teenager's breath during a traffic stop.

"Under God," I thought. "Under God."

And, by God, I did it, and preserved my good standing as a chronicler of this community.

Then Friday morning, my co-workers and I received an e-mail notifying us of the company's voluntary retirement incentive offer, for which I qualified by a year.

I laughed. You never know, do you?

You just never know.