Boston was hot, the temperature degrees only exceeded by the degrees of humidity. It was like being in a slow cooker bean pot (pun intended). In about six hours we’d all be fork tender and done. The plan was (and here I must parenthetically insert that the only person in the world more organized and adept at planning and organizing than Lydia is her daughter, whose single-mindedness and determination has made her a power house in the world of non-profit organizations) to catch a hop-on-hop-off trolley, ride the loop once and then decide which portions of the route we wanted to visit on foot. We queued for an hour in front of four busses only to be denied because the last bus only had room for two. Like lemmings, the busses seemed to tour in herds, so we waited another fifteen minutes for the next herd to appear.

Our driver was a Mister Kelley. An ex fifth grade teacher, he was armed with flags, jokes and puns, a game of historical trivia, and taped music such as the trolley song from “Meet Me in St. Louis”, which my wife and I joyfully sang to our grand-daughter each time it came on. She is nearly twelve and easily embarrassed. We had fun, her, not so much.

The tour included much more than the points of historical interest. Unknown to us, Boston was the birth place of both liberty and Dunkin’ Donuts. There was a “DD”, as it was apparently designated in Boston, on every corner and Mister Kelley made sure to point out each one to us. By the second trip around town, we were pointing them out as well. On the bus, it became a cult joke.

Just as Abraham Lincoln’s top hat in the Smithsonian made him real for me, certain spots in Boston vibrated with the drama of the time and my throat tightened when we saw them. The site of the Boston Massacre and the spot where Crispus Attucks died. The location of the fence that Paul Revere leapt over to borrow a horse, he didn’t own one of his own, to make his part of the ride to warn the Sons of Liberty of the approaching Redcoats. The Old North Church (Church of Christ), where the two lanterns were hung as a warning, precipitating the confrontation in Concord and the Shot Heard Round the World. Breed’s Hill, where the militia of farmers first stood up to the might of the British army. The list goes on, but the cumulative effect was to viscerally remind me of the courage it takes to stand up for personal beliefs and freedom. It was sobering, and I felt richer for having stood in their footsteps.

We are raised with the stories of the founders and their personal sacrifices. Going to Boston was like going to the source. The smell of the harbor, the hot humid day, the deep green fields of corn of the surrounding farms. The basics were still the same. People wanting to lead lives in peace and be left alone to do it. I looked at my daughter and her children, the wind ruffling their hair, Eli resting his head on the open window sill. It was and is a worthy cause.

Blessings.

The Road