When the housing market crashed, one of the hardest hit cities in California was Riverside. The city has recently been in decline. One community that continues to grow is the population of the Riverside National Veterans' Cemetery. I went out there today to visit my father. January 11 is the day he died. One observation I have made on my visits are the different ways families approach visits to their loved ones. I have watched Asian families chant prayers and burn incense. Some Hispanic families will bring folding chairs and picnic lunches along with their children to visit grandpa. White folks tend to lay down a bouquet of flowers and stand around awkwardly before leaving. As I walked the rows I could see the various religious symbols on the grave markers. There were crosses for Catholics and Protestants, the Star of David for Jews, the angel Moroni blowing his horn marking Mormon graves. There were Hindus and Buddhists and a few markers with crescent moons. Yes, there are Muslims buried there. And a realization began to take hold. Since 9/11 I, like so many, have often been guilty of a lazy hatred, a sort of flabby bigotry. Those Muslims, they are all the same, aren't they? When you stand here you understand that all the men and women buried here are equal. They are all Americans. In memoriam to another act of hatred last Saturday in Tucson, all the flags were flying at half-staff.