Holocaust Memorial Pictures
Tap…tap…tap. “Hey Pierce,” I rolled over to pull my bunk curtain back.
“Wakey. Wakey,” Pierce grins. Why did I say I would get up early? Unfortunately, I had. Boston was on the horizon along with the sounds of the 4th and maybe, “The British are coming,” resounding in my head.
Jenni, Pierce, Shirah, and myself walked 2 miles (I probably rounded up in miles for dramatic effect) to the bus stop closest to us in Weymouth, a town near Boston where our bus was parked.
There is one important aspect of myself that I have learned; I am not good with people in the morning-especially not before coffee. Now, I will never admit to not being a morning person because I do, in fact, love the morning, but I do not like to talk. So, people always assume that I hate the morning when it is really just that I don’t enjoy those people in the morning. Anyway, I am sure my mood played a role in my fellow patriots mornings, but for me, it was nice. I texted Heather one if by land and two if by bus as my small troop tromped onto the bus that arrived twenty minutes later than we anticipated.
Finally reaching where Neil Diamond and the fireworks would be in twelve hours, we set up camp. Now, I know what you may be thinking, so to address that: yes, we are crazy, and no, we didn’t have to get there that early for a spot. Although once we arrived and saw a place on the bank of the Charles River, my group knew there was nowhere else in Boston we hoped to be.
The rest of the day was spent on shower curtains bought from CVS while eating Swedish Fish and Twizzlers (a bad idea all around) and reading books and magazines. Amongst our much-needed day off our feet, we began to talk to our neighbors who had also been as patriotic as ourselves to camp out on the bank. Come to find out, after a few moments of discussion leading into our question, “What does it mean to be an American?” our neighbors were, just that, neighbors, from Canada. Their son lives in New York City, so they come into the country often.
Their answer was that Americans have opportunity. They also feel that Bush did his best, and our nation is more unified than Canada because even with several cultures the American flag is still honored. In Canada, they feel, everyone is still divided without a national pride.
This made me think of my own feelings of the flag. A flag that, even in wartime, is hard for me to relate to at twenty-two years of age. The flag, over time, had lost its importance to me as a symbol of anything but the present government.
Previous days in Boston were spent on the Freedom Trail of the American Revolution, now, sitting and gazing at the boats bobbing on the Charles, I thought back on each grave site we encountered during the long walk to Bunker Hill. The graves of a people who fought for a dream they could only envision. Struggle to achieve this dream seems more tangible after walking in Boston, a city preserved from the past allows me to transport back to it. Bostonian streets are cobbled while houses closely confined and similar in design. Commercialism and advertisement does not exceed the older atmosphere of a colonial city. Boston provides a physical connection to America’s past that made me proud my ancestors were rebels- dissenting from the British and organizing themselves to do so. A true triumph like in movies such as Slumdog Millionaire
where the underdog wins.
Memorial
Garden:
Tags of
soldiers hung
in honor
The Declaration of Independence states; “Whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.” Now I see how this force from our past to uphold the people’s rights is so representative of the heart of Americans. A nation of hopeful faith. Hope in a country and people for change, but faith that we can make it happen soon.
Now the memory of our rebellious dissention instills pride into me as well as faith in Americans that, if needed, we will dissent again for the overall good and preservation of our values.
I don’t regret my decision to rise early and sit back to fully enjoy this piece of Boston.
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