This is day 12 of Nicky and
Mike's "30 Minus 2 Days
of Writing"...and I'm incredibly late again...but better late than never. Don't forget to head on over there and enjoy today's ludicrous prompt: The Day I Met Abraham Lincoln.
Fade back in from yesterday...and cue music again...
Can it be? Finally...we are here. The bus has stopped. Now we'll get to
shower up and rest and -- are they serious?? They are taking us directly to
Mount Vernon? I heard of stretching your legs after a long trip, but this is
ridiculous.
So, we have three whole days in Washington, DC. Our itinerary is packed
fuller than my suitcase and as easily followed as Ikea
instructions in Japanese.
Let me get this straight - we spend like six hours at the Holocaust Museum,
about five at Arlington Cemetery...and a whopping two at the Smithsonian's
Museum of Natural History?
THE Smithsonian. The crown jewel of the Smithsonians. There's only about
seventeen of these things and this is the one which houses all the stuff anyone
in their right mind would want to see: dinos, the Hope diamond, one of those
heads from Easter Island...c'mon...two hours?
Whoever wrote this game plan has undoubtedly never been to DC before.
So, they break us into two groups...male and female...like on the bus...and
assign each a tour guide. "Lucky" us - we get the tour guide who likes to ask
500 questions and asks them all next to a trash can...but then races us past
everything else like we're in some Olympic marathon. She yells at us for
attempting to take photos...imagine that...we drove like 23 hours
straight...just to get a snapshot of a pigeon eating a French fry next to a
garbage can. How preposterous of us to want to take one of our kid in front of
some historical monument.
As fortune would have it, my daughter and I were in a sub-group all to
ourselves as we trekked from place to place. Instead of being tasked to watch five other kids like all the other
parents who tagged along were made to...I only had my daughter. I guess that's the "perks" of having a heart condition - they think you're going to keel over at any moment and it's
best to have it only witnessed by one child instead of five. Anyway, because of
this we got to see things like the Magna Carta and the Ruby Slippers...while
everyone else had to see the back of some kid's head as they ran off in the
total opposite direction of the other four.
As the end of each day approached - the tour guides dismissed themselves
and then we got to see a bit of DC's monuments lit up...something I never
managed to do when I lived there when I first got married as, well...because
someone in my family liked sitting on their butt in the house instead of going
to all the nifty free stuff DC has to offer.
But I digress.
Now, I'm no super special photographer and I only had a crappy 3-pixel
digital camera...but when I want to take a photo of a special thing...I don't
want someone's stupid head in the way. I don't want half a blurry body blocking out my
primo shot. I don't want some life-sized cutout of Obama right in the way of my
Washington Memorial looking like he just casually strolled out to get a few
photo ops with the DC touristy peeps.
But...I didn't mind at all when I "accidentally" managed to get one guy I
was following around - in about a dozen of my shots. In fact, when I think
about it...that was the day I met Abraham Lincoln. This Italian guy kept
walking directly in front of my camera...over and over and over again.
And I know it was another dead president who said it...but this guy was
proof positive that not all men are created equal...and as an American, I was
Constitutionally bound to take photographic proof...you know, to exercise my
rights as a citizen or something.
Anyway, when I look back at that eighth grade class trip in April of 2009,
even with the suicide ride and boot-camp tour guide, I'll forever look back at
it with fondness - because I'm so incredibly glad I got to share that time with
Lincoln, "Roberto" and...uh...whatshername...oh yeah, my daughter,
Giselle.
