We spent summers at Peaceful Winds in Florida. One morning, as we left for miniature golf, I asked, “Grandpa, why’s the flag only halfway up that pole?”
“It’s out of respect. When someone dies, we lower it for a day.”
“But, Grandpa, it’s always like that.”
He paused, looking past me. “Older people here… that’s the way it goes.”
Two days later, the flag was flying high. A party broke out at the club house, a veritable retiree’s frenzy.
Before sunset, there were 15 calls to 911. Three deaths. The flag dropped again. As far as I know it stayed there.