I have the best commute in the world. I get on my bicycle, and ride 6 miles, passing across the Memorial Bridge, directly in front of the Lincoln Memorial, along the reflecting pool, past the WW II memorial, and through what is now a pedestrian plaza behind the White House.
Many days I also go through Arlington Cemetery. I mean, right through it. It is the most peaceful and serene 60 seconds of my day, coasting down a largely deserted road, the pavement smooth as silk on my tires, winding through the trees, with rows upon rows of white grave markers peeking through them.
Even on an ordinary day this scene prompts reflections on the quick and the dead, but today at the Cemetery entrance, a marine band had assembled, and as I went by there was a carriage with a coffin on it, covered by an American flag. Seeing the coffin (it was resting off to the side, as if it were not the center of the ceremony, but an accidental bystander, like me) I had complicated feelings.
I felt bad riding by this scene, as if I had disturbed something sacred -- and would have gone another way if I had realized sooner what was going on. I thought I heard someone crying -- in any case, I imagined so -- and it broke my heart. What if that was one of my children under that flag? (In just 10 years, it could be.)
I do not particularly like the military or its values -- order, obedience, conformity, rigidity, tradition, a boyish, simplistic conception of manhood and toughness and sacrifice. That said, I think that the decision to commit to putting oneself and one's well-being at the disposal of whatever our democratically elected political leaders decide is in the best interests of the nation, is an extremely noble and honorable thing.
It's just a pity when those political leaders take that commitment, which should be a sacred trust, and misuse it and waste it so badly. Thirty seconds after leaving this scene, I passed Robert E. Lee's house. Ten minutes later I rode by the White House. Grotesque.
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