so much of what i remember about my childhood can be distilled down to things that happened in just a few rooms. my bedroom (of course, hosed down in pink toile and covered with clothes i never quite managed to put up) in our old house, which i feel like i lived in for a thousand years, but really only lived in for just over eight, was the center of my universe. my mother's kitchen, blue and always full, was the place i picked up and dropped off information. our little breakfast nook, where i took nourishment, where we talked about current events, where we fought, where we ate every day, with windows on two sides, seemed like one of the safest places on earth. my father's study was much like my mother's kitchen, in my mind, except it wasn't blue at all, and always smelled like "chaps" cologne and pipe tobacco...i picked up and dropped off information there, as well as being called to the carpet for having a smart mouth, etc. the room i remember today was the family room...
i can still feel the heat of the day coming off the glass blocks, and i can feel the nap of the rug under my legs, which were almost always crossed indian-style, sitting slightly to the left and in front of my father's brown upholstered recliner. behind me, my brother sits in the wing chair, or just behind me on the rug, playing with leggos or micro-machines, or something that screams "hi, i'm seven, and i'm here to make your life a living hell." my mother sits on the couch, at the back of the room, working on a butterfly-themed afghan for my bed. and we're all watching the news, which is weird, because it's the middle of the evening, and shouldn't we all be watching something inane like "Growing Pains"? but we're not. we are definately watching the news. (actually, it's more like The News, because Peter Jennings is Reporting, like God intended. ) and my parents look very nostaligic.
i can see the men climbing on top of the wall, just in front of the brandenberg gate, the checkpoint i heard them call "charlie" in the weeks leading up this night. they have crowbars and hammers and sparklers. the noise coming through the screen is amazing...horns honking, people shouting and singing and crying and calling out the names of loved ones. there are fireworks. there are pictures of presidents, and soundbites, and i hear the one about "mr. gorbechev, tear down this wall" and i remembered watching that bit of news in our old house. Peter Jennings keeps talking about how historic this is. my parents remind me about the olympics, and how now there will only be one germany, and we won't have to feel sorry for the poor east german athletes, anymore, because they don't have to be communists and live away from their families, anymore. and sit there, in our house in brady, about ten million light years away from berlin, and i watch history. i remember sitting there, and reminding myself to remember this. remember that this happened. remember that you had a lump in your eleven year old throat, but couldn't really figure out why. remember.
i remember another day, about ten million light years away from brady, and berlin, and remembering things. i can see myself walking into another museum couryard, just about like every museum courtyard i've walked into since i moved to this city of marble and exhaust fumes. and i see slabs of concrete, replete with graffiti, with stubs of rebar showing, screaming in the silence of masonry that Things Happened. and i put my hands on the mute concrete and i remember the night i saw this wall come down. i remember all the things i learned about it. i remember telling myself to remember that night. and i put my hands out, to touch the silent stones, and i weep with the weight of remembering, and the joy of it, too.
today, i sat down to remember, again. i'm not weeping, today. but i am profoundly joyful, profoundly grateful, profoundly hopeful that the human experience can include the redemptive work of tearing down unjust and ungodly and unneeded walls. i remember that love is a powerful force, but a power that is never bent to dominate. i remember that love wins. love is what tears down walls, not crowbars or dynamite. and that's pretty news-worthy, i think.
mil besos,
rmg
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