Ten years ago, my wife and I were married in a quaint 18th century inn just outside the gate at Mt. Vernon, George Washington's home. It was a beautiful ceremony (brief - my favorite kind of wedding) and, of course, one of the most memorable moments of my life. We honeymooned in the DC area and devoted one night of our trip to a midnight guided tour of the monuments and memorials of our nation's capital.
One stop on that tour was the Vietnam Memorial, which I had looked forward to seeing. Vietnam was my generation's war. My brother served a tour stationed in Long Binh and thankfully returned in one piece. Others who went over from my little town in Iowa came home in body bags. Many of us now in our mid-50's and older feel an emotional connection with that conflict that's hard to describe to those who are younger.
Anyway, I looked forward to seeing the wall, particularly after dark. Nighttime brings a different, haunting perspective to the many historic statues and structures around DC. Our brief visit to the wall should have given us a moment of quiet reflection in the gentle shadows of the night. Unfortunately, a student group was visiting the memorial when we arrived (what they were doing there at midnight, I'll never know), so instead of silent contemplation, we got a few dozen hyperactive high schoolers running around, laughing, smoking cigarettes and generally acting like typical unruly teenagers. I have to say it spoiled the mood for me a bit. So kids, (I wanted to ask) what part of the word "memorial" do you not get? Would it kill you to pipe down for ten minutes and show some respect for the men and women whose names are on that wall? I left the memorial that night looking forward to a quieter visit some time in the future.
Which brings me to The Wall That Heals, the half-scale traveling replica of the Vietnam Memorial that's on display in Myrtle Beach this week. Tuesday, I had a chance to observe the set-up of the wall and meet some of the local folks who were involved in bringing it to Myrtle Beach. Nice people.
If you haven't seen the traveling wall before, I suggest you stop by for a visit while it's here. Allow a few minutes to really reflect on the thousands of names etched on those black panels and why they are there. Give some thought to the babies who grew up without daddies, the parents who grew old without sons. The classmates who will forever miss their high school reunions, the friends and neighbors whose smiles will fade from our collective memory as the years pass. Consider the future cops, teachers, inventors and health care workers whose potential contributions to our society were snuffed out in a jungle on the other side of the world.
Maybe take a second to shake a veteran's hand while you're there.
It pains me a little to think that the Vietnam War still has the potential to divide us, that it seems we're still struggling with what it was all about, who were the heroes in that war and who were not.
I guess it's because, as you look at the names on that wall, it's so tempting to ask why, when, at this stage, maybe it's better to just say thanks.
The Wall That Heals will be on available for viewing on the former Pavilion Amusement Park site, 24 hours a day, until closing ceremonies Friday, May 27 at 2 p.m.
