A statue. In a roundabout. Forgotten in front of a building that turns its back to downtown.
I wandered out to visit my ancestor by marriage. Andrew Jackson. Our seventh President.
We all have our first brush with history, that person or event we recall from our earliest days of school. My first vivid memory of history isn’t the Pilgrims or Christopher Columbus or George Washington.
It’s third grade history and Andrew Jackson.
I wrote a report, double-spaced, in hideous cursive. Cut up a book my mother got at The Hermitage, Jackson’s home outside of Nashville. With the skill of a kid with no design talent whatsoever, I glued pictures of Jackson into my yellow-bound missive, got my A, and forgot about him.
Until the past year or so.
It’s hard to revisit childhood with the eyes of an adult. To know my childhood hero destroyed one nation to expand the boundaries of another.
It was what people wanted at the time.
Do you think we learn anything from history? Or do we bumble through the same set of blunders over and over and over again?
May South Carolina not blunder in its special election today. If we elect a disgraced former governor who spent thousands of our taxpayer dollars for the personal precedency of his penis, we deserve EXACTLY what we will get in the United States Congress and in the media.
A good thrashing.