By David Kleinschuster

The crowd erupts into an array of hooting and hollering. From the raving fans in the front row shaking the fence separating them from the stage to the distant cries from the loners in the nosebleeds, bellows of joy and streams of tears are dancing down sun-scorched faces.

Most tears come from women in their mid-forties as country singer Luke Combs strides on stage.

All I can think is, “All this for country music?”

I’m shifting uneasily through unfamiliar love songs and breakup-boozing ballads from revering country artists whose names fly over my head. A bump on the shoulder causes me to turn around and gawk at an astonishing 100,000 people shifting in anticipation for Luke Bryan, Old Dominion and dozens of others to raid the stage in oxford-collared shirts cut into tank tops.

This is the Patriotic Festival. The annual, three-day country music extravaganza can be found on the sandy shore of Virginia Beach, V.A.

Finding my life-long, country-loving best friend to my right, I share an uneasy, cheeky grin to match his euphoric, beaming pearls.

Uneasiness swamps my insides. Not only did I feel that I was the only one who did not know about Kane Brown’s new single, but the effort in finding an opening in pit seating in front of the stage caused for too many sharp elbows into our ribs, accusing eyes and the often “Move along buster” from patrons awaiting the headliner of the night for the last five hours. An NFL-worthy stiff arm from someone’s grandmother determines our spot for the rest of the night. Our efforts jolting to center stage were disturbing too many fans.

Well. Rightfully so.

So, we took the pleasure of sneaking in.

A low rumble begins to overlap with the slashing of electric guitars and the pounding of drums, completely consuming and captivating the masses.

F-16 fighter jets screech by overhead in a perfect wedge formation. Suddenly, I remember that I am not just at any country concert. I am at the Patriotic Festival.

Uproars of applause and American pride sweep the Virginia Beach shoreline. It all comes to reverence when the band on stage blares the Star-Spangled Banner. Army paratroopers saluting out of a perfectly safe black hawk helicopter sink from above 2,000 ft. On each soaring soldier streams red, white and blue smokescreens trailing from their power suits. Dropping into a landing zone rear of the arena, an American flag as large as the McDonald’s across your street bursts from the peak of the stage and drapes in a beautiful presentation of pride behind the band.

This is not just a music festival. This is the celebration of freedom.

The armored vehicles with inscriptions U.S. ARMY and U.S. NAVY hovercrafts span around the three-mile-long boardwalk surrounding the beach. Army, Navy, Air Force and Marine soldiers gather beneath the flag of freedom, and more are seen parading the shore, joining among grateful and revering citizens in celebration and song.

Seeing love, joy and appreciation spread like a virus capable of causing a worldwide shutdown across all 100,000 faces on the beach overflows my heart with admiration. Witnessing the true influence of selfless sacrifice for freedom would humble any king. The reflecting within each civilian heart fragments any ounce of doubt that we are not the most blessed people in the world.

National sacrifice upholds the key facet in sharing our unique beliefs openly and freely in the comfort of not only our homes, but in public.

Pride encompasses every heart upholding patriotism and no amount of rioting will sever this level of unity.

Googling three day’s worth of country songs and beginning to mumble along to the choruses, country music began earning my respect.

Luke Combs shifts the atmosphere of emotions with “Beer Never Broke My Heart,” uprooting any burdens left in the past by cracking open a noncommittal, ole’ reliable cold one. Adrenaline fuels my veins while screaming along with the plastered, balding man beside me.

But the true performance at the Patriotic Festival cannot be found in the songs, but by the tribute in each heart leading to 100,000 arms linking in love.

These tears are not for Luke Combs. These tears are for freedom.

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David Kleinschuster is a senior at High Point University majoring in Journalism and double minoring in Political Science and Military Science. For contact inquiries, please email dkleinsc@highpoint.edu.