Perhaps the most inane -- maybe "dumb" is a better word -- question put to the presidential candidates during the seemingly interminable debates was one tossed at Barack Obama in Philadelphia.

Obama was asked why he does not wear a flag pin in his lapel.

Really! Have we come to this? When a tiny tin flag costing a pittance is the litmus test of whether someone loves his flag and his country? Let's hope not. Wearing a lapel flag is, or should be, merely a matter of choice, as much a choice as, say, having entwined rattlesnakes or "Mother" tattooed on one's back or forearm. I don't interpret those symbols as assertions that the wearer fears snakes less or loves his mother more than I love mine, but rather that in a moment while bored out of his gourd he opted for a little exterior decoration as a diversion.

The Scripture, in Revelation, warns that before the end of time we will have to wear the "mark of the beast" on the right hand or forehead before we are allowed to "buy and sell." That mark, it notes, could come in many forms.

Surely we don't want our flag to become the "mark of the beast" that determines if we are acceptable to one another as human beings and fellow Americans. Remember what happened in Nazi Germany when the swastika and the "Heil Hitler!" salute became the "mark of the beast" that led to the slaughter of millions.

I've worn a flag pin now and then, usually at some special event where they were distributed. I've never perceived the flag pin as a required item of clothing.

Sure, I respect Old Glory. There have been times when my eyes overflowed at the sight of it: as when a buddy's flag-draped body was being lowered into a jungle grave in the sandy soil of a lonely South Pacific island.

Or, occasionally, while straining my vocal cords to reach the high notes of "... and the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air..."

Or, during the Olympics, when some young American athlete proudly stands on the top pedestal, receiving the gold, beneath the fluttering flag as our national anthem is played.

But questioning someone's loyalty because he doesn't wear a lapel pin? That's the height of insult and reflects poorly on the intelligence of the questioner who in that way insulted Barack Obama.

Curses! That word again

"It's such a country, comfortable expression, and speaks of character," a reader e-mailed me during The Tournament.

He referred to UNC Coach Roy Williams' frequent use of the colloquial "Dadgum!"

I agreed that "Dadgum!" as an expletive is to be preferred over a number of other words used in moments of high frustration, whether it's when the ref has called an undeserved foul during a sports event or when an inept amateur carpenter hammers his thumb instead of the nail.

The truth is, though, paraphrasing Juliet's spouting off to Romeo about the Montagues, "A cuss word by any other name is still a cuss word."

My father's favorite, if not only, "cuss word" was "Plagonit!" In our family, "dern!" would elicit a stern lecture. "Dammit!" would be rewarded with a whack on the seat of the pants. And more explicit expressions would be punished with a thorough thrashing by a peach tree switch.

I was in high school before I realized "Plagonit!" was simply a derivative of "A plague on it!"

Not long ago, my wife and I flew to Florida to attend an elementary school production of Shakespeare's "As You Like It," in which our two young granddaughters played roles. On the plane, while rereading the play, I was surprised and amused to encounter "Plague on it!" uttered by one of the comic characters.

Words and expressions, like people, have interesting ancestors.

My reader is right. Cuss words such as "Plagonit" and "Dadgum" serve the same purposes as legitimate profanity. However, their usage is more indicative of good taste and character than the common variety of expletives. And that's the dadgum truth.

Birth announcement

We are pleased to announce the birth of quadruplet grandbirds, each an inch and a half long, weighing perhaps an ounce max.

Three have been named Wynken, Blynken and Nod. The fourth shall be dubbed either "Barack" or "Hillary," depending on the May 6 North Carolina primary results.

The mother is doing fine, thank you, although demanding extra servings of mealworms. Her mate does little more than preen proudly and hang out at the suet feeder.

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