Thoughts on the Mall
Ah, Washington, DC. I love the place or at least the public face of the place. I’ve walked the grounds many times since the days of my youth. The Smithsonian, the National Gallery, the Mall, the monuments. I’ve stood on the Capital steps, sat in the gallery, peered in at the White House. I’ve been there for conventions, been there on business, been there as a tourist, been there as a sailor. I’d go back in a minute just to bask in the deep history of the grounds.
My most recent foray was in the company of my daughter’s young family, and the oldest is old enough to know what she’s seeing, and it was fun doing a little teaching. We stood at the monument to World War II, and I got to rattle off the names of my father and his brothers who served and tell her when and where. When we went to the Vietnam Memorial, I showed her the name of a dear friends brother. At the King Memorial I told her about the 1963 March on Washinton, and the time in 1968 when I visited Resurrection City, part of the poor people’s campaign.
In the end though, she was tired, and I was tired and I realized how much history I’ve lived through. Born of the big war, I watched boys go off to Korea, watched my friends go off to Nam, watched people fight for their civil rights, watched planes fly into buildings, and watched us celebrate the 200th anniversary of the country. At this point, I’m not real sure what I’m watching. Mostly, it seems like a circus. But that just may be me. And who really knows how the tides of history will roll. All I know is that the world is full of dead civilizations and cities, and we’re most likely not immune.