The Freedom Trail

Over the weekend, I had roughly four daylight hours to spend in Boston, MA. As I had never been in this particular city before, the paralyzing question loomed before me: What to do, what to do with my four hours?

After perusing the "touristy" map in my hotel room, I decided on the Freedom Trail--a 2.5 mile tour of many of the events leading up to the American Revolution. I'm a geeky history buff, after all, and that would take me around a nice portion of city, plus give me a decent 4+ mile walk from one end to the other and back again.

So armed with a map, a cup of coffee (it was a bit chilly at 9am)and my camera, I set off to see the places that up until today, I had only read about in history books.

The State House, the site of the Boston Massacre, Paul Revere's home, the Old South Meetinghouse, Bunker Hill, Boston Common, the site of the first public school, and the Old North Church were amazing sights to behold. As I approached the Old North Church, the bells were signalling 11am Episcopal mass--if ONLY I could've had another hour at my disposal! :o)

But the thing that was probably the most moving for me was the Granary Burying Ground. It is the final resting place for Benjamin Franklin's parents, Samuel Adams, John Hancock, and Paul Revere, as well as those who died in the Boston Massacre, plus hundreds of other people who lived their lives in Colonial America and in the United States as a brand-new country.

I thought about these people--living their lives in Boston in the late 1700s. Looking around at their situations and circumstances, and wanting something better for themselves and for their children. And I thought about what they are still remembered for today. For some, it's one or two small moments, while others seemed to be so much more in the thick of the action.

I thought about what John Hancock is remembered for--having the largest signature on The Declaration of Independence. And I thought about what that really meant in 1776. I was always amused by the story that he wanted King George to be able to see it without the aid of his spectacles. I of course thought he was gutsy. But today, the significance really hit me. Those 56 men who signed the Declaration of Independence didn't live in the world in which we live. They weren't just voicing their opinions about what they would like changed, or writing a letter to the editor of the local paper. They were committing treason against the King of England. An offense that was punishable by death. And an offense that ultimately lead to a war.

And this is where my school teacher plug about the importance of teaching world history chronologically comes in: We cannot possibly understand the depth of what our forefathers did for their beliefs if we don't understand what it was like to live in Europe under a monarchy in the 17th and 18th century...and in Feudal Europe before that...and the Roman Empire before that...and...

Did our forefathers get it perfectly right? Of course not. They were, for all intents and purposes, respected, wealthy, land-owning white men who wanted freedom from the king. Freedom for white land-owning males. Yes, these men were flawed. Many owned slaves. They took land unfairly from the Native Americans. And yes, it would take 100+ more years before slavery would be illegal and before women would be able to vote. It would take nearly 200 more years before civil rights would begin to change the way minorities in this country are treated.

But in each of these instances, flawed people held ideals. They held a vision of something better--something bigger than themselves to believe in, work toward, and put their lives on the line for. And after they made their mark...whether it was Benjamin Franklin and John Hancock, or Susan B. Anthony, or Martin Luther King, Jr., the world was a little bit better of a place for what they had accomplished.

And the lesson for me in all of this is twofold:

1. We have not arrived. Let me say that again. We. Have. Not. Arrived. There is still much work to be done. And there are people out there, trying to do it. There is still poverty and hunger and sickness and an educational crisis and an environmental one. And over 200 years ago, when there was a taxation without representation crisis, there were people who wanted to fix it, and people who thought things were fine and didn't want anything changed. I don't want to be in the second group. We are on the brink of change. It's scary and uncertain, but I am hopeful that when we emerge from it, things will be better. Not perfect, but better.

2. What is my passion? What is my ideal? What is the thing that I would sign my name on so largely that people who have the power to end my life (or at least make it difficult) could see it without their contacts in? And when am I going to get busy and do something about it?

*Author's Note* I would like to thank my reader (s?) for patiently putting up with my introspection as of late. And I promise to return to quippy blog posts about the goings on of my four children and our little life here in the Midwest very soon!