The nation’s capital! I thought as my plane skimmed over the Washington Monument, wanting to open my window and touch the smooth bricks.
My aunt picked us up from Reagan International Airport and were off on our historical journey around the theme park of national monuments. She drove down Pennsylvania Ave, past the White House and Capitol. I shot mental images of such regal buildings. We then stopped at the Lincoln Memorial and looked up at Abe’s honest face as the thick bars of sunlight from between the pillars fell on the Gettysburg Address. We threw pennies in the Reflecting Pool, trying to throw them away from the hungry ducks who would swallow them up in a heartbeat. I am proud to be an American because of our historical cities, like Washington D.C.
As Americans, we have the privilege of booming cities shaking with our historic past, with a love for them that is as long as the Potomac. With D.C., you are in the county seat of the nation, a beautifully thriving hub of our country’s decisions and laws--which gives off an aura that can be felt wherever you happen to be walking in this government wilderness. To me, D.C. is different from the rest of the big cities in America, it has that respectful and awe-inspiring feel even from the tree-lined suburbs on the banks of the Anacostia to the powerful, knee-bending Capitol Hill,
Devastation I felt as it was the last day of our trip, and I was running back to our room to put away the clothes that my mother was helplessly trying to pack back into the suitcase.
“We can’t go,” I said.
“We have to,” my mother insisted.
I pouted like a regular five year-old, and hid in the old laundry shoot--Now we’ll have to stay, I thought.
I finally got into the car from assailing hands and drove to the airport.
As my plane took off, I only had the window between me and my beloved D.C., watching Thomas Crawford nod me by, and the city below me.