Last summer, Julia and I drove to Bryson City for her first club soccer team practice. At the time, it felt like a huge moment–our daughter was a rising freshman, but in our minds she was still very much a middle schooler. And now, suddenly, I was dropping her off at a field an entire county away so she could go try out for a team with a bunch of high school kids.
Those high school kids looked decidedly older.
My nerves, my word, my nerves. Every sense of athletic inadequacy in my body welled up to see her jog out onto the pitch and start passing the ball around. What on earth are we doing here? I wondered.
After months–honestly, it was years–of avoiding what felt like our children’s inevitable acquisition of small, furry rodent animals to serve as pets, and after successfully weaving between the pitiful pleas of kids number one and two–those eyes, those knowing looks of disappointment–I finally (finally!) acquiesced. Annie wanted a hamster. And I was too worn down to object. I held out for what should have been an appropriate amount of time. Even the most dogged defenses, it turns out, have vulnerabilities.
Mine began with a PowerPoint deck.
It’s only appropriate. How perfect that the chink in my armor involved a slide deck and an impassioned pitch. How pathetic that at nine years old, Annie had me figured out.
An extraordinary day, and a simple act of decency.
We are standing in a dark room where photography of any kind is prohibited. Before us, in a light and climate controlled room, is the original garrison flag raised over Fort McHenry in September of 1814 following a long night of British bombardment. In the early morning light, the sight of the flag inspired Francis Scott Key to compose words that eventually became The Star Spangled Banner.
Thomas and I are standing, a bit speechless, looking at its faded colors, its clearly hand-sewn composition, its tattered edges. In the years after the War of 1812, the flag was owned by a family, who scissored off snippets of fabric to give to war heroes and friends. It was eventually given to the Smithsonian in 1907, where we are viewing it. And of course, now we all sing about the flag. This flag. I think about how singing a song with others brings us together.
Minutes later, I pause to take a seat on a wooden bench while Thomas checks out another gallery of our nation’s artifacts. I’m nursing a fractured foot, and our day started early this morning as we hiked around the Library of Congress, the Supreme Court, and the U.S. Capitol Building. The day before we’d hoofed it more than 10 miles. My orthopedic boot was not the most comfortable footwear. As I sat, I glanced at my phone and saw I had a LinkedIn message, and for whatever reason I opened it, read it, and came to a startling conclusion.
