National History

Today I saw the National Archives amongst other landmarks here in DC. I didn't expect to be all that impressed to tell you the truth, but I should have. After all, paper and the things that people are moved to put on them, the words that are the living avatars of ideas and emotions, are the foundation of what I am and do.

I wound up there almost accidentally. I got separated from the group I was traveling with early this morning. A communication error led me to believe that I had missed them in the hotel lobby, so I threw my crap in a sack, tucked my ubiquitous crutch under my arm, and hobbled to the Metro station, one of which is mercifully only steps from the hotel in which I'm staying.

The DC Metro is an absolute dream. After navigating the subways in Japan (in Japanese, I might add), these are so simple and easy! The Japanese subways were always convenient, too, but there was always the worry that I was going the wrong way because of my stupidity with the language. It happened on more than one occasion. These trains here, though, have provided me with a freedom I haven't had since before my knee surgery. It's pure heaven to be able to go and come as I please without having to wait for someone to drive me.

Once I got to the National Mall, I decided to go to the Archives instead of trying to meet my friends at the Washington Monument since a) I'd have to hike 100 miles to get there and b) there was already a mile-long line snaking its way around the base. It turned out my friends had the same idea, so we toured through the Archives together, seeing the foundational documents of our nation, bits and pieces of trivia and personal data from people who were never famous but who were important nonetheless, and a great many other interesting things.

The room everyone goes to the Archives for, though, is the room with the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights. It's as solemn, dimly lit, cold, quiet, and ornate as any ancient temple. Maybe that's appropriate in its way. The items in their cases are large parchment squares, and most of them are so faded by time and wear that they are mostly illegible save for the flourishes of Hancock's showy J or the beautiful calligraphy of "We the People" atop a page. One can only trace some of the letters, and in places, imagination is called to replace what the naked eye cannot scan at all.

This in no way diminishes one fragment of their power. If anything, it only makes them stronger. Despite the ravages of time, ill care, and the elements, they have survived. They have endured. Now, with the best sciences possible, they are protected as well as or perhaps even better than the Crown Jewels. I think there's a very heavy-handed allegory here, or at least I'd like to think that we're bent on conserving more than just the paper form of those documents. I'd like to think that just as much care and concern was shown by every branch of our government, by every citizen in this land, that just as much pride and respect was given to the nation as to the paper symbol. Otherwise, I think our founding fathers would agree that their purpose has failed.