I have known many a Marine in my life and one of the most often repeated statements (besides "There is no such thing as an Ex-Marine.) is "Marines don't get lost, Ma'am. I'm just temporarily disoriented." Well, HRH and I were disoriented several times on this trip. One of my favorites was an attempt to go to the National Aerospace Museum. We had been driving around and around looking for parking.
Two things to remember, this was 1978 and there were actually places to park on the street in Washington, DC and we were from Des Moines, Ia...we didn't know there was any place but the Iowa State fairgrounds in August where you couldn't find parking. So when I pointed to a street running very near the museum on which I saw no parked cars we whipped that big red Mercury Cougar on a two-wheeled right hand turn right onto I395. Yeah, well I guess you don't see a lot of cars parked on the interstate. But I didn't know that then.
We drove on the Interstate until we crossed a body of water which turned out to be the Potomac and tried to find our way back from what turned out to be Virginia. Then I noticed a familiar sight - the Iwo Jima Memorial. I recognized it from inside our Family Bible. No, I don't know why we had bible with a picture of the flag raising. I'm certain there was a very sensible reason. But remember they also never told me the Priest was speaking a different language.
Well, HRH somehow managed to get us turned back and close enough to the park so that we could see the only image more iconic than the holographic picture of Jesus hanging over my Grandfather's chair. At least in my 20 years of experience. As I recall we parked in an apartment building parking lot and crossed something slightly busier than a side street, but I don't think it was the actual interstate.
I walked round and round the bronze edifice. It was not just impressive by size and familiarity...it was the hands. This was the first time I was moved by three dimensional art.Ok, so my experience at that time was the giant naked angel on a tricycle in Merle Hay Plaza. But still they touched me and I will always remember my reaction. I have been back several times but nothing will ever supplant that gut reaction.
Since we were in Arlington we went to see the National Cemetery. I saw the eternal flame, Robert Kennedy's simple wooden cross, Audie Murphy's grave and the changing of the guard. Unlike the Memorial, these scenes didn't move me as much then as they did in later years. The last time I was in Arlington I watched the changing of the guard (the infantry man actually admonished the viewers to observe silence as this was a cemetery) but my tears had stopped by that time.
I can't tell you when the tears started, but it was somewhere between the Crew of the Challenger and the Crew of Flight 93 when I joined the ranks of adults who can grieve for their nation openly and unashamed.
Yeah, I think I'll go back again.
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