Today is Friday: Are you wearing something red? Probably not, as this is New York City, where any ribbon wearing must have something to do with political correctness. I find the whole color scheme/charity thing a bit ostentatious, but I am now seriously leaning toward this Red Friday movement to support our troops serving in Iraq and Afghanistan.

The movement originated and is still going strong in Canada, where thousands of citizens have been showing up at rallies to show support for the Canadian troops serving in Afghanistan. No politics are being invoked: The only message they wish to convey is to let their troops know the people are behind them. I heard of it only because someone trying to get more of a show of support for our own troops in Iraq and Afghanistan sent me an e-mail in hopes I would spread the word.

It’s difficult to drum up action when the so-called silent majority is busy being, well, silent. The anti-war crowd has the benefit of the entertainment types bashing the president whenever they can. All the silent majority can do is write these celebrities off its list and watch their theatrical efforts fail. Hey, Danny DeVito: Ho, ho, ho.

Whenever I’m in Manhattan, I spy signs that I’m in a liberal, blue state, completely removed from the reality of war. Peace signs are everywhere in the Greenwich Village area, and the fact that Ché T-shirts are still being worn by some NYU students is laughably anachronistic. On the no. 1 train headed uptown last week, a young man in his early 20s was wearing a “Hate Bush” T-shirt under a light jacket. The only wording I could make out was “Liar.” Meanwhile, the man was picking at his face in a way that I found disgusting. One hesitates to assign a stereotypical image of the anti-warrior to this fellow, but given the depths my critics routinely sink to whenever I dare to support the war, I’d say it’s not far off. My hate mail always includes the ubiquitous puerile talking points about killing Iraqi babies, etc., then descends to insults about my looks and my last name, essentially putting their debating ripostes on the intellectual level of: “You’re a poo-poo head.”

The other boroughs are more in league with the rest of the nation when it comes to overt signs of support. New York cars may sport those metallic yellow “support our troops” ribbons, but it is the neighborhood homes that still have American flags flying on their porches. Although the stories of the military sacrifices made by city residents rarely make the headlines, I am always awed that our jaded city has produced such fine specimens of humanity.

During the summer, I wrote about a young Staten Island Marine platoon leader, whom I did not name, and recounted some of his heroic exploits. Well, his name is Michael Jezycki, and the Staten Island Advance recently featured a story about how the young man’s first time away from home was spent near Fallujah, Iraq. From the article, I learned that his aunt, Peggy Jezycki Alario, lost her life on September 11, 2001. Michael is only 20 and is expected home from his second tour in Iraq in February. Pray for him.

Here’s the headline of another Advance story: “A Wedding Kiss, Then Off to War.” The story related that Private First Class Michael Mastrangelo and Carolyn DiFiore were wed the day before he was scheduled to be shipped off to Iraq. In the 1940s, Hollywood made romantic movies about couples like this. Fat chance of that happening today.

Two weeks ago, a 24-year-old soldier killed in Iraq was laid to rest at the Moravian Cemetery in Staten Island. Sergeant Yevgeniy Ryndych, a Ukrainian immigrant, enlisted on October 6, 2001, served in Iraq between August 2004 and July 2005, and volunteered to go back in October. Did you hear that, Rep. Charles Rangel? Our military men and women, who are serving under the absolute worse conditions, are volunteers who know why they are in Iraq — even if you don’t.

I visited ground zero last week and scanned the thousands of names of the September 11 homicide victims killed by Islamic jihadists — not President Bush, as some would have it. I sought out my friend Donald Foreman’s name and then wondered why there are so many Manhattanites who can’t make that connection to terrorism that Ryndych did — and he’d been here only since 1998.

Fortunately, I live in Staten Island, where young men the same age as that face-picker are demonstrating courage and wisdom beyond their years, and are certainly equal in valor to the Sergeant Yorks and Audie Murphys of yesteryear. Their heroism is incredible, and if wearing something red on Friday will let them know how very much I admire them, I’m breaking out my ruby slippers.