My daughter, Emily, and I visited the Newseum in Washington DC today to take in the opening of the JFK exhibit. I was in my 3rd period class in 8th grade at Hamilton Jr. HIgh in Long Beach CA when the news of the President’s assassination came over the intercom that November day in 1963. While that announcement and the subsequent emotion is burned into my memory as clear as anything, I don’t remember anything else from that day. I now know that he wasn’t the perfect king of Camelot that that 13-year old worshipped, but it doesn’t change the fact that my perception of the world changed so dramatically in that moment.
As counterpoint, on display in another hall were pieces of the Berlin Wall and a watchtower that used to be placed at Checkpoint Charlie. What a happy day it was when that damnable concrete barrier came down!
I was already feeling emotional about reliving these moments in history when we came upon the 9/11 exhibit, and that is when I lost what little control I had. It took me by surprise, how quickly the sobs came. Still so raw, even after more than a decade. It wasn’t the mangled pieces of airplane and tower that did it. It was the wallet of one of the passengers on one of the planes. A mother traveling to Disneyland with her young daughter: ID and credit cards and once red-leather wallet accompanied by a photo of that mother and daughter. A day that had started with happy anticipation…
We drove back to Maryland, down Embassy Row (Massachusetts Avenue) in typical Friday afternoon traffic, gawking at the embassies of all the countries that love us and hate us and love to hate us.
I wish I had something profound to say that would give all of this some meaning, or at least help me create a context that isn’t so uncomfortable and unsettling. I don’t.
