Hallowed Ground

I'm taking an English 2010 class this semester, and we've been writing responses to various articles as we've gone. But tonight I read something that genuinely touched me. I'd like to share what I wrote about it, but first you need to set aside some time to read this article (http://www.davebarry.com/misccol/hallowedground.htm).  Seriously. You HAVE to read it.

Finished? Good. It's difficult to analyze this piece. I feel as if I'm analyzing an epitaph or a eulogy. The words have a simple beauty to them, and the idea is... almost pure, in a sense. I've heard it said that a talented writer who writes badly is either trying to express an emotion they feel driven to share or blinded by an idea they have to prove. This I feel is of a different sort, that of a talented writer writing excellently, because he is moved by a desire to touch his audience. And I'll admit it, I'm touched.

This is so fantastically different from what I have read from Dave Barry in the past. He's flippant, he's irreverent, he's even a tad offensive at times. This was... well, frankly none of those things, and as such, it was almost hard to read. Not to say that the writing was bad, far from it. It was fantastic. But the whole first third of the piece I kept feeling like there was a joke about to pop out of nowhere. Toward the middle of the article I decided it might be easiest to just read it as if it were from an author I'd never heard of before. That helped, and I was moved to tears toward the end.

The theme of this article is so relevant to everything I do, it's scary. I have been to the National D-Day Memorial in Bedford Virginia twice. The first time I went, I took pictures of absolutely everything, was impressed with the scope of construction and the symbolism of the various sections of the park, and became excited by the numerous mentions of Utah beach. The second time I went was a completely different experience. The second time it was raining, and thank heavens for that. There's not a whole lot of covered areas in that park, and so I spent most of my time sitting where there was cover. And as I was sitting, surrounded by the melancholy of the rain, I saw something beyond a neat park with some symbols. I saw a landing craft, with soldiers fighting up a beach, bullets falling in the water around them. I saw ships beyond that, and beyond that generals, safe physically but dying a piece at a time with each fallen soldier. I saw men determined to uphold a way of life that was precious to them, willing to spill their own blood in defense of that idea.

The reason that this memorial is in Bedford Virginia is sorta odd. Bedford was really a small town in the forties, not really worthy of distinction. But every family sent their boys to fight, and through the conspiring of many events no one could have predicted, all 56 of them ended up bound for Omaha Beach the morning of June 6^th, 1944. By days end, 19 of them were dead, and three more ended up dying later from gunshot wounds sustained in the battle. In 1944, Bedford had a populations of just over 3,000, and 22 killed in action gave them the highest per capita loss of life of any town in the nation on D-Day. As a consolation, the memorial was built here.

But that's really the point. These boys are heroes. We can do nothing to add to or take away from what they gave. And on that rainy day, I saw that land as hallowed ground, and my heart bled for the people of Bedford. This has never really been about us, and it never really should be. It isn't us that makes the monument. It's them.

With election day right around the corner, it's nice to be reminded what we really have here. America is built on the bodies of patriots, not on policies. I feel safe in saying that this nation is hallowed ground, and there's nothing that will change that. Respecting the rights I have because of that foundation, well, that's really all I've got. 

It's enough.