My First Visit to a Memorial

By Erica Schiller

     When I was young, I had the opportunity to visit Washington, D.C.  With a big group of 8th graders, I flew (my first time flying alone) to our nation's capitol.  Everything was new and exciting.  I don't remember much of how I got there, or what happened before we got out on the road--all I know is that once we got on the bus, we learned the first place we were going was the Vietnam memorial.  I instantly thought of my late grandpa, who fought in the Navy in the war, and whose recent death from Agent Orange-induced cancer was still fresh on my mind.  When we got to the memorial, it was smaller than I'd expected, simpler.  But it was clear just from looking around how personal it was for many people.  Soldiers crouched by the dirt, families laid down flags and flowers, old friends looked solemnly at faded pictures they'd brought with them.  I wondered how I'd feel if my grandpa had died in the war (a possibility--my father had already been born when he was drafted), how personal it would be to me.  My grandpa had taken shrapnel to the side in an attack during the war, received purple hearts for it.  I wondered how many names the blast that spared him put up there.  I wondered how many of the names he would have recognized, how many friendships he would remember.  I stood in front of the wall and didn't leave until they told me it was time to go.