Postcard from the (Eastern) Edge

DATELINE<Washington>

June in Washington, DC means the beginning of hot summer and swarms of tourists, mainly hordes of eighth graders on field trips. Imagine lines of chartered buses disgorging dozens of pimply, noisy young teens in color-coded t-shirts announcing their identity with themes such as "Class of 2017 Rocks DC!" Now where did I put my bottle of Aleve?

I'm here to visit my eldest son who lives in Arlington, VA just across the Potomac from Washington. He's a UCLA grad working in a suburban ER until his post-baccalaureate RN nursing program begins at Georgetown University in August. My son was born here and lived in Northern Virginia until he was eight, with many return trips to visit old friends and relatives young and older. One such trip was his eighth grade trip to Washington from our California home; somewhere in a drawer rests an old yellow t-shirt that is emblazoned "Class of 2007 Rocks DC!" or words to that effect.

This is a solo visit, which means more flexibility for this old dad to get around the monuments and museums, indulging my inner history geek. My boy pulled the hospital's midnight shift, so he works while I sleep, sleeps while I tour, and we visit in the evenings. One might think I knew the National Capital Area pretty well, and I do--on a certain level. My first visit was a college seminar in '74, for work in '80 and '81, then a thirteen year stretch from '84 to '97.  I was married at the National Presbyterian Church on Nebraska Avenue in '85, graduated with my MBA from The George Washington University in '86. My first son was born at GWU in '89, the second in '92 at Fairfax Hospital in the Northern Virginia 'burbs. Yeah, I got this area nailed down pretty good--or so I thought. That was then, this is now.

The political landscape of DC may fluctuate according to election results, but the social and cultural lives of the residents of our nation's capital evolve according to their own timetable, its citizens dancing to a different beat which does not emanate from Capitol Hill. Vibrant, exciting, alive with life force of youthful optimism--this is the core of today's Washington. In days gone by, one did not venture of the beaten track of touristy DC for fear of the wanton criminal element. No more--now it's gentrification on steroids.

U Street, Shaw, Chinatown, H Street Corridor, Capitol Hill Northeast--these were neighborhoods most often named on the Crime Watch segment of the evening news here when I lived in Washington in the Eighties and Nineties. Today, they're hip and trendy destinations. The classic downtown sidewalks along Connecticut and K Streets are no longer deserted after dark; young couples and small clusters of laughing young people circulate from restaurant to club or merely a merry stroll about the town. Politicians beware, your backyard has become a city of bursting with the promise of youthful optimism, energy and excitement.

There is a flip side to the gentrification of city neighborhoods to be sure; I choose to celebrate the promise of tomorrow happening in very shadow of our dysfunctional capitol.  Every year hundreds of hopeful young college graduates bring their talents to the center of their government, gambling that with their considerable talents, initiative, hard work, and modest compensation they can make a positive difference in this world.

I give you this image to ponder. Three dozen energized, healthy twenty-somethings gathered on the open grass that is the National Mall.  Their field of screams lies between the Museum of American History to the north, Smithsonian Castle to the south, flanked by the distant U.S. Capitol's dome to the east and the scaffolded spire  of the Washington Monument skewering the setting sun to the west. These kids are divided into two teams vying for the DC Kickball Championship. Do you remember kickball? It's the elementary school version of softball played with a squishy 18" diameter red rubber ball that you kick rather than hit. The rules of the game mimic its more prestigious cousin, yet the physics of the cumbersome ball levels the skill sets of these after-office athletes. The result is universal good times.

The players hail from congressional staffs, think tanks, government agencies, non-profit groups, media and healthcare. They come from hometowns in New England, California, the Deep South and the Midwest. They are former jocks and ham-fisted klutzes, male and female, straight and gay, multi-cultural and multi-ethnic; they scarcely care about labels, they're busy celebrating shared fun. Politics are never mentioned, laughter never withheld. Not even the dramatic black smoke of a distant fire that swirls around the Capitol's dome rattles this group; a quick cell phone check determines that the engines are headed for a retail fire, it is safe to play ball. Tomorrow's leaders resumed their game. Joy and the American Spirit are the true winners in Our Nation's Capital this day.