They’re Not Mad At Us
We were vacationing in Washington D.C. with our children, who were probably eight and eleven at the time. They were pretty young to be being dragged around all of the National Galleries, but my wife was determined to see all she could since we were there.
I was at meetings most of the time, and besides not being able to help her convince two small children the Rembrandt’s in the next room really were interesting, I tried to save some money by putting them up outside of town.
They were riding the subway into town, seeing the sights and then going back to the hotel, which wasn’t in the most upscale part of town. I, of course, had a rental car so I could get about town, and eventually my meetings were over and we were able to spend some time together as a family.
I enjoyed seeing the national monuments, but I think in our minds they are always more grand than they appear in real life. For some reason, I had imagined the Lincoln Memorial to be much larger than it is, so when we walked up the steps and saw President Lincoln, I was kind of underwhelmed. Don’t get me wrong; I was impressed with the grandeur of our nation’s capital, but I’m just a poor country boy from Utah, and I guess I expected more.
The collection of things to see in Washington D.C. is really endless. I could spend a month in the various Smithsonian museums, and though my wife is more of an art lover than I, we did get to see some great works of art. We went to the Kennedy Center and watched a show called “Once On This Island”. I liked it so much I directed it at my high school a few years later.
I enjoy seeing all the tourist souvenirs available when I travel, and D.C. was no different. My favorite was the Washington D.C. Polo club shirts. They may have had a polo club, but I doubted it, and I thought the satire was fun. Some of the area really is blighted, and you would think there would be a better economic plan to stimulate D.C., but I don’t think a polo club would really help much.
There were lots of fun things to do and see, but a small family has a pretty regular feeding schedule. Most of our vacations are planned around where we will be when we want to eat, and both of our daughters were very picky eaters. They weren’t the regular McDonald’s kids who wanted a Happy Meal for breakfast, lunch and dinner. We would go to Wendy’s and they would order the baked potato. They liked soup when we went to a fancy restaurant. So finding places in our nation’s capital which they would like turned into a scavenger hunt.
I had heard there was a very good Chinese restaurant a few blocks from where we were doing our tourist stuff one morning. Again, this restaurant wasn’t in the nicest part of town, but that seems to be the case with many great restaurants. As we pulled our two girls along with us, we noticed a small crowd was on the street just ahead.
For those who haven’t had the chance to visit the inner city of one of our major metropolitan areas, let me describe the scene. There is trash strewn about, and a general lack of care about yards and business buildings. There was lots of graffiti, but you get used to that after a while. But the sight ahead of us was not one my small town Utah wife had seen very often.
A large group of African-Americans were gathered around three people who were about to have a fight. There were two large women who were fighting over a skinny man. The rest of the people were either there for moral support, or just to watch the fight. As we crossed the street, only half a block from the restaurant, the shouting had reached maximum decibels, and the fight would be starting any second.
My wife hesitated and said she thought maybe we should go somewhere else to eat. I was determined, and we were only yards away from the restaurant and had already built up some good momentum as we walked.
“They’re not mad at us”, I assured her. And it was true. The agitated crowd ignored the four of us as we went in and had a great lunch.
When we came back out, the streets were empty.
I turned to my wife and smugly said, “I told you they weren’t mad at us.”
She gave me the “you are lucky this turned out all right” look.
She’s right. I am a lucky guy.
Dane Allred's podcast of this blog on his program "Abundance".
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment