The Healing Wound :: Vietnam Veterans War Memorial Essays

The Healing WoundIts a beautiful morning at our nations capital.Constitution Gardens is blooming with intent. Flowers of red,yellow, and pink dock their heads in the gentle summer breeze.Wise old trees proudly over face the grassy lawns, while twitteringbirds scamper about on their strong, sturdy limbs. People blatheranimatedly as they stroll in small groups along the brown, dustypaths. Children run and jump, stopping occasionally to makequick poses for p bents snapping cameras.As we walk ahead, we obtain a shape taking form on thehorizon. It looks like a large gray splinter embedded into thegreen landscape. As we get hold closer, we interpret how truly largethis object is, yet it does not get hold up from the earth like otherstructures in the park. Rather, it sinks down into the lawn, asif its very size were a hulk weight upon the land. Now that weare upon it, it looks farthermost more like a gaping black wound than asilver sliver. Its theory begins narrowly and then wid ens inthe middle, tapering off once again at the other end. It is verydark, and now that we are close enough to touch it, we see thatit is solid and black and hard and dense. The park breezes diehere. Adults complete their prattle. Children stop their play.Eerily, even the chatter of birds doesnt reach this solemnplace. All senses tell us that we have entered a sacred site--aplace meant for reflection and contemplation. We are at theVietnam War Memorial.The tip of the gash points to President Lincoln sitting high higher up and looking out upon us all. In contrast to the giantstatue of pristine white, the wall that rises by my foot is sodark that it reflects the ground in which it is burrowed. in that respectare letters inscribed on the wall. They form call. I readFLOYD LEE WILLIAMS JR.I wonder about Floyd. To most people who come here, his ismerely one out of a myriad of names scratched into this coolgranite wall. Does anyone have it off that Floyd was from Northglenn,Colorado, or that he was only 20 years old when he died? How canthe thousands of people who see his name here know that he was inVietnam for only 12 short days? His helicopter was shot down.His life was important, yet his death is only the tip of a longiceberg that chills the hearts of Americans everywhere. Thereare over 58,000 more names like his listed on these cold slabs.The sleek and stark feel of the memorial is raise by theThe Healing Wound Vietnam Veterans War Memorial EssaysThe Healing WoundIts a beautiful morning at our nations capital.Constitution Gardens is blooming with life. Flowers of red,yellow, and pink bob their heads in the gentle summer breeze.Wise old trees proudly oversee the grassy lawns, while twitteringbirds scamper about on their strong, sturdy limbs. People talkanimatedly as they stroll in small groups along the brown, dustypaths. Children run and jump, stopping occasionally to makequick poses for parents snapping cameras.As we walk ahead, we notice a shape tak ing form on thehorizon. It looks like a large gray splinter embedded into thegreen landscape. As we come closer, we realize how truly largethis object is, yet it does not rise up from the earth like otherstructures in the park. Rather, it sinks down into the lawn, asif its very size were a giant weight upon the land. Now that weare upon it, it looks far more like a gaping black wound than asilver sliver. Its opening begins narrowly and then widens inthe middle, tapering off again at the other end. It is verydark, and now that we are close enough to touch it, we see thatit is solid and black and hard and dense. The park breezes diehere. Adults cease their prattle. Children stop their play.Eerily, even the chatter of birds doesnt reach this solemnplace. All senses tell us that we have entered a sacred site--aplace meant for reflection and contemplation. We are at theVietnam War Memorial.The tip of the gash points to President Lincoln sitting highabove and looking out upon us all. In c ontrast to the giantstatue of pristine white, the wall that rises by my foot is sodark that it reflects the ground in which it is burrowed. Thereare letters inscribed on the wall. They form names. I readFLOYD LEE WILLIAMS JR.I wonder about Floyd. To most people who come here, his ismerely one out of a myriad of names scratched into this coolgranite wall. Does anyone know that Floyd was from Northglenn,Colorado, or that he was only 20 years old when he died? How canthe thousands of people who see his name here know that he was inVietnam for only 12 short days? His helicopter was shot down.His life was important, yet his death is only the tip of a greaticeberg that chills the hearts of Americans everywhere. Thereare over 58,000 more names like his listed on these cold slabs.The sleek and stark feel of the memorial is enhanced by the