Take the History Tour

It's what makes kids moan about and fear whenever there's a family visit to the city. Any city. Any city with a museum or historical site or old church. Eventually, the parents are going to drag them to somewhere at which they will hear or (gasp!) read something that might be educational or cultural or the least bit intellectual.  They kids know it's coming, that moment when they'll be pulled into some exhibit that one day may be vaguely familiar when a teacher mentions it in class. And as parents, we feel the need to do this, to expose them to culture and history, because, well, just because.

 

We've done a pretty good balance of the historical and potentially educational sites while on vacation. We visited the 9/11 Memorial in New York City and the kids didn't complain. Whether that was because they were actually interested or knew that this site was something they should not complain about, they were respectful and questioning and exploring when we went.

 

In Boston, we walked the Black History Trail, starting with the 54th Regiment Monument.  Along the route, there were homes where various Black Americans once lived and hid runaway slaves along the Underground Railroad and held abolitionist movement meetings, the first colored school and the first integrated school in the city, the African Meeting House that served as church, community center, political meeting place, and school.  We made our way to the spot that Crispus Attucks died and the Old North Church where Paul Revere instructed the men to hang the lanterns (one if by land...) 

 

"Why do we have to go? It's so hot. All these hills!" The kids whined.

"Because it's important. This was where the Revolutionary War started.  And these people worked toward ending slavery.  You'll be able to talk about it in school," I said.

"We don't even learn about all this in school, we don't talk about slavery," they reported.

"Well, then that's even more reason why we're here. Keep walking." 

 

I knew they were going to complain.  I didn't expect that they would have the same excited reaction as when we went to the aquarium, which is just as educational, in a different way. These are the experiences and knowledge, however, to which we want to expose our children. Seeing the Boston harbor will illustrate the point when they learn about the Boston Tea Party.  Understanding that "Glory" wasn't just a movie (although a great one) emphasizes that there were real, live people willing to sacrifice their lives for future generations' freedom even when they weren't even considered full citizens themselves. And now, having made it to New England on vacation, driving, perhaps it's more evident how long a journey it is from a southern (slave) state to a northern free state, and the distance people were willing to walk to escape slavery; and then there's the poster hanging in the museum, warning Bostonians about a law that would allow slave catchers to capture Blacks and take them back to the south as slaves, whether they were free or runaway slaves.  That may or may not come up in the history lessons at school, but it happened.

 

There's a lot that we want our children to know and understand about our history, culture, religion, world. As parents, that is one of our responsibilities, to teach them and expose them to as much as we can that we feel is important.  Even if they whine and complain.

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A Dream Deferred

This morning, we stood out in the blustery wind, with a barely warm sun, in line to see Anne Frank's house. I imagine any educated person in the industrialized world knows the story of Anne Frank, if not in detail, at least in general. I have to admit, however, that I did somehow manage to graduate high school without ever reading her book. So I also didn't know that her family lived in Amsterdam, after fleeing their native Germany. We couldn't pass up the historical lesson of going to her house, especially since L will be studying WWII this year in school, and has a report due when school starts about the war.

What surprised me? As soon as we walked into the house, I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. When we crossed over the threshold into the rooms that were for her father's business, I thought about being a young girl, barely older than my oldest daughter, and having to hide for your life, for 2 years. I managed to blink away the tears, until we got to the next floor. In the rooms which were her father's offices, was a video of his assistant, Miep, who he told they were going into hiding and asked for her help. Imagine entrusting someone with such an important secret.

On the landing in the hall way, is the bookcase that hid the entrance to the steep steps to the rooms that the families lived in; the Secret Annex, as they called. It's such an emotional tidal wave, considering the fear, hope, love, exhaustion, confusion, anxiety, frustration, friendship,patience, and faith that filled that space.

the Frank's home and business, Amsterdam

Her experience reminded me of those of African slaves in the U.S., running to freedom in the northern states and in Canada. Thru stories passed down, we've heard of the few people, if any, that a slave told they were leaving. The fear of being caught. The quietness required not to be discovered. Knowing the dangers of being found, but feeling that it was worth the risk to find freedom. The people one had to trust to make it. The inhumanity of it all.

We often consider historical moments as being so long ago that it doesn't even affect our lives. When I saw Anne's birth year, it brought into focus how close history is. She was born the same year as my father. When her family was going into hiding, my father was working, taking jobs vacated by men going off to fight in the war. Had she survived just another few months, she may be alive today, a proud grandmother, sharing her stories in person.

Apparently, Anne wanted her diary to be published. Encouraged by a radio broadcast from a Dutch government official who suggested that it's citizens keep their diaries to be shared after the war, she continued her diary, as well as made her own editorial changes and rewrites. In those bleak days, she had the vision that it would all end one day, that there was going to be a tomorrow when she could just be a teenage girl. And she dreamed of being a published author. She would never know that her father made sure her wish came true.

If she could dream, can't we all?

Reading list... Warmth of Other Suns

I've always been perplexed by those people who said they were reading multiple books at once. I didn't understand how their mind could process different books all at once. Granted, I constantly have a pile of books that I'm going to get to "one day", next to the pile of books I started but decided I would never finish, but generally only actively reading one at a time. Until now. Perhaps my attention span is getting shorter, my interests are widening, or I've just forgotten where I've left my book and went on to the next, but I'm now reading 5 books simultaneously. And so far - I've kept things straight and know who belongs in which book. They are all different genres, so I'm sure that helps to keep them separate in my mind. they are also in separate physical locations, as well. On my nightstand, in my car, in my purse, on the kitchen counter, around here wherever last I left it. Then when I go to that place, there's a book for me to read.

The book for bookclub was "Warmth of Other Suns" by Isabel Wilkerson. The author spent over a decade researching the history of the Black migration from the southern states to the northern cities - the why, how, when, where - to produce this novel-like epic, highlighting the journey of 3 people. They left their homes, their families, everything they knew in Louisiana, Mississippi, and Florida with hopes for a better life in Los Angeles, Chicago, and New York. The emigrants were Black, but one thing pointed out in their stories was how all people - mostly Black & White, of course, in the south - were affected by the limitations of Jim Crow.

Reading it has made me think about things I never gave much consideration. What was it like picking cotton if you just weren't any good at it? What does it feel like not to be able to protect your own family? How do you know when you've had enough? Its also made me miss my great aunt and wish I had asked her even more questions when I had the chance. I know she and her sisters (and thus our family) left Virginia after her mother died, to be with their father. But I never asked "why did he leave in the first place?"

At our bookclub discussion, the subject turned to the present. The history of the migration makes one realize the great sacrifice and steps of faith taken by those who left their southern homes. We often consider the sacrifice of the civil rights movement, but without this first migration, there may not have been a civil rights movement. So when you think of all the people who left their families, took a chance, gave their lives to move from a life of oppression - physical, mental, legal, social - what are we doing with their legacy? What are we doing now to make sure that our society keeps moving positively forward? What are we doing, as individuals, to ensure that people can access opportunities, can reach their potential, can have a dream for which to strive?