History in the Making ... Maybe

Installing a love of history in your kids is a take-it-or-leave it situation: either your kids will take to it or they won't. There are kids who love visiting historic sites, actually listen in history class, and perhaps do "something" with it when they become adults, if nothing else than trying their hardest to pass it on their offspring, thus continuing the cycle. And then there are kids who just ... don't. They mope when their parents drag them to museums; their eyes glaze over in the required academic courses of all things past and irrelevant. Some embrace it; others abhor it.

When I was a kid, I eagerly and wholeheartedly fell into the category of the former. I remember one of the first historic sites my parents brought me to, a house museum that, for a few important months, provided lodging for General George Washington during the Revolutionary War. I'm not sure how old I was -- perhaps seven or eight. But to this day I can distinctly remember standing in some of the restored rooms, listening at my level of comprehension to what was coming out of the mouth of the tour guide, seeing dressed-up soldiers milling about on the lawn, amazed that GW himself -- himself! -- actually stayed in those very rooms. It impressed me a great deal, so much so that I remember it vividly almost 30 years later. But then again, I was just one of those kids. No one had to twist my arm to do anything pertaining to history.

It's always been a hope of mine that this love would pass down onto my children. Since it's not really genetic (or is it?!) there's no true guarantee that my kids will leap for joy when we tell them of a vacation in Williamsburg, VA rather than Disney World. And yet, I can start early, can't I? I can start immersing them in bits of history and see what unfolds. So, with that plan of formation in mind, we set out for a bit o' history this weekend.

I read in the paper that a local museum was sponsoring a reenactment and I jumped at it. Not only do I love this kind of thing, but what was cool about this for me was that this was the very same museum where I first was bitten by the bug so many years ago -- the same museum where my parents brought me as a child, and now I had the opportunity to continue this with my own kids, from the very same starting point. It's an omen! I thought happily as I packed up juice boxes and Goldfish.

The thing that was interesting about this particular event was that it didn't focus solely on the Revolutionary War, as usually is the case. Instead, this museum wanted to present a "military timeline," with clusters of re-enactors spanning the 18th to 20th centuries, from the French and Indian War up to Vietnam. It was a bit strange, I must admit, to see a kilt-clad musket-bearing soldier talking to a Vietnam Vet sitting in his decked-out Army jeep, but I got used to the juxtaposition within moments of climbing out of the car. But that's just me ... how would my kids fare?

Aidan's intial "Wow!" was followed by his big brown eyes intently scanning the scene. A good start! I thought proudly. His gaze settled on the Scottish regiment, relaxing in their big tent. "I want to go there first!" he said. My heart leaped -- lead the way, my fascinated boy! Your fate awaits you!

"Hi! I'm Aidan!" he said to the funny-looking group in front of him. "And this is my little sister, Grace." The folks warmed to my kids, striking up a conversation. One man in particular saw a little recruit in the making, and he came over to Aidan to show him some of his gear. Then came the highlight for Aidan: he was offered an opportunity to see the firing of the musket. The guy walked over to a clearing, with my two little ducks behind him, and walked Aidan through the process of loading and firing. The kids -- both of them -- were mesmerized.

I won't deny it -- it was intriguing for me, too. My kids braved the loud concussion, although Grace's thumb popped right into her mouth, signaling a bit of discomfort at the unexpected noise, but she recovered quickly. It was a neat experience, but one which came to an abrupt end as I was reminded that my son was only five. He turned around with a quick "thank you" to the soldier, spied a World War I soldier sitting by his pup tent and said, "Let's go over there!"

That's how we spent our afternoon, jetting from one historic grouping to another, spanning decades with a few steps, hopping through the time-line as only a child could do. Two men dressed in blue woolen coats were standing by a tree, and Aidan ran over to them with his customary, "Hi! I'm Aidan!" We scored a jackpot here, for the man took a liking to Aidan and asked if he wanted to actually hold the musket. "Yeah!" Aidan said, for this is not something he does every day. He picked it up with a bit of difficulty, for the thing was about three times longer than he was, and just as heavy. "Look at me, Mommy!" he said, smile wide, with the musket upside down in his little hands. The man laughed and then gave Aidan a little lesson on how to hold a musket like a true Frenchman.

When the weight of it became too much, Aidan put it down and then asked the man if had a sword. He didn't, but he pointed to a British officer who did.

I was in my glory. My kids like history! This is great! Even little Grace got into the act, talking to various re-enactors in her own little way, telling them of her "yoo-tiful" haircut and new shoes, and even discovering her own personal highlight -- seeing that the WWI pup tent was just her size! She crawled in ... and refused to come out. That was a bit of an awkward moment, until Aidan crawled in after her and coaxed her out. We really had a lot of fun that afternoon, and I was greatly encouraged that perhaps, indeed, this is something we can do with our kids! Ah, yes, but then ...

Aidan's eyes scanned the area again, this time settling on the last tent. A tent full of toys for sale. Then his true delight came forth, to my great chagrin. Toys? Toys?! What about history? What about the wonderful re-enactors? What about all this other great stuff right in front of you? All you can think about is ... toys?! He saw a toy Speed Racer and began the process of begging and pleading, which turned into whining and pouting when I refused to buy it for him. It got so obnoxious that we left in foul moods.

Well, it was a promising start, at least. He is only five, after all.
I guess we'll put off Gettysburg for another few years.