We spent three days in DC - but only one of those was sightseeing. The first we picked up Delaney at her journalism conference, taking her back to the hotel and letting her nap for a couple hours and then going to dinner at Red Lobster.
She took the picture above and was mortified that her parents could be so embarrassing. In other words, we were doing our job as parents - embarrassing our child. that is after all in the parenting contract - "Thou shalt embarrass your offspring on all possible occasions."
Our second day, included a tour of American University for Delaney. She loved it - more on that East Coast college tour in a later blog.
The third day - we decided to spend our time visiting the Holocaust Museum and Arlington National Cemetery. Hence the title, 'the day of the dead'. We arrived at the museum shortly after they opened and got our scheduled time to visit the main exhibit. I put pride aside and used the wheelchair because I knew that it might involve a lot of 'walking' and I was advised there weren't a lot of spots to pop a squat along the way. The chair proved to be a mixed blessing that day because it was so busy that for the first part of the exhibit I mostly witnessed a whole lot of backsides. I felt like a small child trying to look around the big adult(s) in front of me to see what they were commenting on. Patience wore thin about 15 minutes later and I got a little more aggressive. I moved through the crowd to the front of the exhibits. I decided, I was a lot easier to look around, since I was sitting in the wheelchair, than for me to try to maneuver around those taller and more agile. It worked and I could see/read the exhibits and experience the horror more fully.
Time out for a soapbox moment . . .
I also got to experience for the first time, the horror of living as a disabled individual in an able-world. I have been a Canaanite (how my pastor describes those of us with canes!) and have struggled along the able path can in hand- but sitting in a wheelchair adds another dimension. There are many accommodations for people in wheelchairs, but in a world where people are trying to move the front to get the best view, or to be first in line, or to have the bigger stall in the public restroom, or . . . you get the picture. I experienced a new perspective sitting/wheeling in that chair both visually and cognitively. I saw a lot of fat asses and a lot of asinine behavior. Now I won't get all sanctimonious on you because I know that I have been an ass with a fat ass - but this time I saw it played out from a different vantage point. I personally don't want more accommodations or regulations, I would just like for humanity to act more humanly. You cannot legislate behavior.
Okay, I jumped off my soapbox and am back to our day of the dead.
A small part of the exhibit was about the treatment of handicap individuals by the Nazis. They were sent off to special hospitals and killed. My skin crawled. When I looked up from reading a particularly poignant plaque, I saw a teen boy looking at me and he gave a shy smile, looked at the chair then looked away. He had been reading about this genocide as well.
We drove the few miles across the Potomac to Arlington to visit the National Cemetery. A security guard waved us to the visitor center to get a handicap pass. I wasn't sure what to expect. John wanted to see the Tomb of the Unknown soldier and Kennedy's grave - and I imagined they'd be close by and we would just pull up, park in the designated spots and visit the graves. Instead, we were given a special pass to drive through the cemetery; no cars are allowed within Arlington and we were one of 50-something issued a handicap pass that day. At first that felt nice but an hour later, on a blistering hot (90+) humid day passing pedestrians that had traversed the fairly steep uphill paths, we were getting some scowls from those sweaty faces. And it didn't feel so good sitting in our air-conditioned car. I mean it felt good, it just didn't feel comfortable looking back at those sweaty, scowling faces.
Despite my discomfort, it was an incredible experience. So much tradition and honor - and I felt proud to be an American.
I also felt a sense of gratitude that I am living in this country at this time when and where there are accommodations made for those with handicaps or diseases. Depending on the level of disability, we are not housebound or shuttled off to live out our lives in facilities or hospitals. Or worse, we are not looked at as worthless, as the Nazis viewed those with handicaps.
Strangely, the day of the dead in DC became for me a day of the living. I saw goodness (like in the accommodations and the smile from that teen boy) among the not-so-good in humanity. And I saw it all from the vantage point of the wheelchair.
Life rolls on.
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