From Sea to Shining Sea

February 2014 David Doolittle It must have been around May. May was the month my father was killed by a drunk driver. This was last year, 2000, and the same summer my mother had a freak accident. She was on the beach of La Push Washington where a floating log in the tide almost killed her. Two Native American gentlemen saved her life that day. She lived through months of agonizing pain surgery then recovery. The events in 2000 made me almost an orphan at 13. I was waking up depressed, as any 13 year old boy who lost his father would be. There was literally no adult male to go out and play catch, hit balls at the driving range, go fishing, or kick the soccer ball with. These were all activities I did with my father. Then an idea came from my mom. She had just come through a remarkable recovery from the injuries stemming from her accident that broke her pelvis ribs shoulder femur. We should take a trip across the country, she shook the covers I was buried under. Cmon bug you need to get out of bed. We need to go do something. I mean we could travel across country and see it all. Grandma is not getting any younger and that also means her family isnt either. Dont you want to see your relatives? I know she does before well you know. My face must have been buried in the pillow but I half-awakened agreed shaking my head I suppose. Great we leave in two weeks. Two weeks? The thought of being away from my Cruising, USA my dad and Is favorite Nintendo 64 game, crept into my mind. The gravity of being away from this comfort didnt surface until the day before. I had associated the game with the memory of him. A few months ago towards the end of the school year I had moved from the area I grew up my entire life. It was a dramatic shift from the working class rural Key Peninsula, to suburban Gig Hawhbor arguably the ritziest area in Pierce County. I had left my quality friends I knew my entire life and exchanged it for fast made friends who were more interested in the newest lcd TV, getting a cellphone, popularity in the common adolescent cliques, or doing drugs. I made friends quickly but not necessarily the best ones though. One of these friends from my new neighborhood, Caleb, smoked a lot of Weed. Being culpable to influence at the age of 13 he probably wasnt the best influence. Maybe it was best I got out of dodge while I could for a bit. This is before High School would consume my life, before I would make choices that would affect my future in negative ways. At the time I was a good student. Straight As. As an entering Freshman student at Gig Harbor High School, I already knew where I wanted to go to college. I was determined to get to the Naval Academy at Annapolis Maryland. A member of my church Frank Shirley, at Key Peninsula Lutheran, had discussed with me how to go about getting there. We talked about my soon to be involvement with the Navy ROTC and the letters of recommendation I would have to get from a congressperson. He said it was important on this trip I go visit the school. I think I may have mentioned it to my mom once that I would like to go there on our trip. I had no idea what the east coast looked like, or where Annapolis even was in Maryland. There were so many thoughts concerns and wishes for this trip ricocheting through

my head. The closer the days drew to us leaving, the more excited I became. I went to the Gig Harbor GameStop to talk to Harold. Harold was the manager of Gig Harbor GameStop. I met him soon after I moved to a neighborhood a quarter mile from the store. Harold had this vast knowledge of video games even my dad didnt have. I told him about the trip and how I was kind of bummed to be without the games. He was an understanding adult. Harold or Harry as he liked to be called said he had about six years worth of Nintendo Power magazines hed be willing to sell me. I gathered my allowance savings for the last month the next day and bought nearly a dozen Nintendo Power magazines. Then I walked over to Bartells to buy four disposable Kodak Cameras. I dug through some boxes still in the garage from the move to gather a large collection of my great grandpa Berts national Geographics ranging from 1930 to present day. Grandma had given me a map of the United States to map out our trip across the country. The night before we left I packed a small Jansport backpack with all I had bought. After having packed it I went into the bathroom to put together my toiletry travel kit. I noticed in the mirror my face got back life. I was finally getting excited for something after a year of nearly constant tragedy and depression. The night before I buried my face in the pillow, it fit comfortably into the notches that I had gripped and cried into many times before. Tonight there were no tears just a gleaming smile of anticipation for a quick moment before slowly nodding off into a closed mouth expression of rest. The car was packed by the morning. Amid everything accumulating all around the seats and back seats my mom had built a little nook for me. There was so much un needed packing the 1998 burgundy-grey, two tones, the Pontiac Montanas body sunk a bit to the road. We couldnt be without anything. I nestled into my nook and had strapped in before the car was even started. Honey, grandma is not even here or packed yet. We arent ready to leave. I got out of the car and waited.. and waited.. and waited for Grandma to show up. Grandma showed up and there was some discussion between Mom and Grandma where her luggage was going to go. It couldnt block the back window and the blind spot. A big emphasis was on making the vehicles travel as safe as possible. Looking back I understand why, as a child I had no patience for this. At my age I was more focused on getting going, to wherever that would be, across the United States. I helped my mom shift around some of the luggage so Grandmas would fit. The cooler was brought right next to me from the trunk area. Grandmas luggage fit just right. Plus I had the cooler next to me! So anytime I wanted a snack it was readily available. At sometimes that would prove very valuable as the coldness would greatly contrast the heat outside providing some relief from the heat. Being from the temperate pacific northwest I had never experienced great heat like I would throughout the trip. Heat of all different manners of environment, every kind of heat you could imagine. Anyways after Mom had triple checked the doors of the house were locked, we got going on our trip. The overloaded, overburdened, oversized Pontiac lumbered forward out of Gig Harbor across the Narrows Bridge into Tacoma. We travelled on interstate 90 over the Snoqualmie pass where I had taken ski lessons in years past, into eastern Washington, across the Columbia gorge, and into the northern Idaho panhandle. It was a quick jaunt across the

panhandle of Idaho to be in Montana. We passed an exit for a ghost town I had been to with my mom on an earlier trip. Remember that ghost town mom? I cant remember if it was Enya, John Fogerty, or Celine Dion that was playing over the tape deck but she didnt hear my question at the time. The same 4 or 5 tapes played on repeat nearly the entire trip. Its safe to say I knew all the words of Bad Moon Rising by the end of the trip. More so than anything John Fogerty played over the car stereo. The artist first was part of the classic 70s band Credence Clearwater Revival, this tape was a cover of his older songs. CCR was music popular during my moms teenage years. There was a steely determination for her to get through this part of the country. I could see the burden laid on on the side of her face from the back seat view I occupied. There were memories associated with this area. Trips we had made as a family when my father was alive, trips he had made on his Yakima motorcycle road cruiser he recounted with us often. I buried my face into a Nintendo power or a national geographic to pass the time. The green lush forests had turned to the sagebrush plateau then back to mountainous forests and now were becoming farmlands. The kind of terrain where the raised road surface seemed to be the highest elevation around. The black asphalt and summer sun struck down creating a heat neither my mom nor I had experienced whenever we got out at a rest stop. My Grandma was accustomed to the semi-arid environments as long they didnt get uncomfortably hot. Her life was spent growing up in Iowa on a farm; it was a later stop on our trip. We made it through Butte, Montana. About this time I was reading an article where the video game character had red hair. I wanted to have red hair. My mom had no idea why, but it was so hard to please me during this time among me battling with constant depression, she complied. Outside of Butte we stayed at one of the few dozen motel 8s, holiday express, or quality inns we would occupy as home on our trip for single evenings. Mom and I walked to the grocery store and bought red hair dye. Are you sure? Yeah Mom, its my hair isn't it? I said punkishly. Im sure, just about as sure as any angsty 13 year old boy could be on important decisions such as his hair color. I didnt care what anybody would think back home, hey by the time we got back home it would be time for a haircut if I didnt like it anyways. There was a bunch of laughing by both of us as my mom helped dye my hair, then a scream as we washed it out from my Mom that woke up my Grandma. She came into the bathroom where the act was being committed. Oh heavens, I thought someone had committed harry-carey in here, my grandma said. Im still not quite sure what the origin of that phrase comes from but I assume it has something to do with murder. She was right the bathtub crime scene was stained red. Well luckily, we were only going to be there one night. The next day we left under these suspicious terms, my mom just dropping the room key in the box instead of turning it into the concierge. Early that morning before check out we were back onto the freeway hurriedly zooming away from the murder tub. It wasn't long after merging onto the freeway the terrain took on the monotonous tone of farmland again. I put my time to good use after getting a CD player in the same convenience store we got the hair dye in. I only had bought two cds though. Limp Bizkit and Dr Dre's Chronic 2001. For the attitude I had as a confused lonely

often depressed 13 year old the music felt like it belonged. The music was popular with a lot of people my age as well. The music was not marked with a Mature Content sticker either so I told my mom I wanted these CDs she was oblivious to it being full of swear words violent messages and sexual themes. She gave me the money for the player and the CDs, I then went to the checkout. The elderly checkout worker passed it right under the price scanner. If it was not for the map, which I was tracing our path, I would have had no idea where we were. We made our way along interstate-90 through the heartland of Montana meeting the northeast border of Wyoming after heading southeast through Montana farmland most of the day. The red in my hair was so bright the sun made it shine. The music had lowered as we drove into a rest stop. I noticed this and paused my gazillionth repeat of Break stuff by Limp Bizkit and I asked Mom, Is it always going to stay this bright? No honey, it will get dimmer as you wash your hair more. Can we cut it soon, I dont like it Not for awhile I want you to think about making choices like these again. But mom, its weird, she just chuckled. Okay go to the bathroom. As I looked in the dungy rest stop mirror I thought, what had I gotten myself into? Red hair? Ah the choices we make in our youth. As we pulled away from the rest stop I took a minute to look outside and saw the most glorious sign shortly after getting back on the highway. Reptile Farm 20 miles away, MOM we have to go to that! It was those corny animal farms that are no in most part nonexistent in the present day. I didnt know that though. I thought there would be snakes as large as myself, and all other manners of reptilian creatures far recessed within my sometimes dangerous creative mind. In reality the expectation was not met. What I got was a panel multi type wood shack with a few large aquariums full of lizards and snakes. I believe there was one pool behind a rather sharp ended chicken wire fence with a small alligator as well. How was this a functional business with these safety hazards? It felt like one of those sideshows settlers would see as they headed west. It was an incredible waste of time, on a trip that had a fixed time frame. But now I see how that culture was attractive to past travelers. People from the generation my grandma was raised in. While you travelled around the country these tourist traps offered a glimpse into environments they could not see with the technology of their day. For this reason I believe my Grandma actually enjoyed it. My mom was bored as me and we were excited to get through it, back in the car to get back on the road after paying 10.95$ each for a ticket. None of us besides Grandma were really hungry after watching the zoo worker hop over the fence with the worst smelling fish guts and toss them at the alligator. The stink permeated the room and our nostrils for the next couple hours. It was getting to be dinner though. Mom pulled into a town where a rodeo was going on. We tried to get tickets then stay for the night but it was already packed. The rodeo was a locally held annual event not a wellknown tourist stop. We managed to find a seat at the local packed diner. It was a loud ruckus environment none of us could really talk among another without yelling. The waitress didnt even try to talk above it. Somehow we ordered Buffalo burgers, the authentic signature grown meat of Wyoming. It was not found many other places as the Buffalo populations in most states were hunted to extinction or banned from being killed. The meat was delicious, juicy flavorful

much like hamburgers but uniquely tasteful in comparison. This evening we drove out of the rowdy rodeo town and made it into South Dakota before stopping for the night. Farmland in Montana turned to dusty brown hills in Wyomings north eastern corner. The areas scenery stayed the same until making it into South Dakota where trees began to litter the landscape again. I must have been napping at this point because we rolled into a parking spot and I was awoken to, Bug were at Mt. Rushmore! Oh boy! One of the stops we planned to make that I was looking forward to. I was excited. Then we all filed from our sweaty seats of the van into a line of tourists of all skin colors wearing ball caps with camera straps around their neck. It was such a diverse crowd of people all here to see one of the United States great monuments. A parks department employee organized the tour to the viewing area and gave us a little history behind it. I soaked it all in ecstatic to be learning the history of my country at such a young age. I was so eager to get to the actual viewing area, the walking up to it appeared to be a long path with marble carvings pillars and statues. It built this anticipation of a great monument we were all about to see. At a point there managed to be a gap in the line so my mom took a picture with the Kodak disposable camera in front of the pillar marking Washington as the 43rd state to join the Union. We all filed back into the line. My grandma was having a little trouble breathing, the area is at a higher altitude than the pacific northwest, and so she stayed below the steps up to the monument. Mom and I made our way to the viewing area. Surprisingly the viewing area was several thousand feet from the monument. From our perch it still looked majestic but was quite a deviance from the pictures I had seen in my national Geographics I had brought with me. The faces of Lincoln, Washington, Theodore Roosevelt, and Thomas Jefferson carved into the mountain side were visible testaments to the power of these influential figures but the spirit I had believed was captured in viewing it so close was not there. Yet another disappointment. Not nearly a letdown as the reptile farm was but then again fantasy was being replaced with the reality of this trip. It wasnt to see these great sites or visit relatives it was to escape at this point. I had issues I was dealing with problems my family thought was better I run from or be bought off than dealing with them head on. My escape was from situations such as physically being near the site of my fathers accident. We moved off the Key Peninsula to not have to drive by it every day. Also having to live with the phone calls to the house phone Is Mr. Dave Doolittle or David Bruce Doolittle there a year after his death. Maybe just being here standing in front of these disappointments would usher in a new era of thinking for myself and the family. It was very hopeful in the eyes of my mom such a trip would cause enormous change in me. It was only towards the end of the trip then after a few weeks later would the gravity of this journey be assumed into my consciousness. After experiencing the breadth of the United States this trip became to my personal thoughts an analogy to Mt Rushmore in a way. Mt. Rushmore was a monument carved patiently out of stone, preserved in the natural environment of South Dakota conducive to withstand extensive bad weather if needed. It was similar to how the actions of our forefathers on this mountain have built an attended to systemic structure continually tested and proven to be non-destructible among great tragedies that have befallen our nation during its entirety. Then for me these examples of great

American leaders and the monument were my resolve to succeed after my fathers death, to come ever so close to the brink and not fail at life despite the constant befalling of ill events surrounding this era in my personal history. We left the Black Hills of South Dakota and entered into a new era of farmlands. It seemed to me we were travelling in a nonstop straight line for days. Jetting the black scorching asphalt among a variance of crop lands, barns, and silos. Sure the road curved to and fro but generally none of the landscape changed around us. In reality we were only going through the farmland areas for little over a day. It didnt help my perception of space time compression seemed slighted to make this length more arduous than the farmlands of Montana. This was before reaching our next premier stop, Kenowa Iowa, for a couple days. While we were there we visited with my Grandmas sister Wilma and her husband Dick. Kenowa wasnt much but a few houses, a post office, a single mid-20th century built main street, a Baptist church, and a school house for all grades. The main street had a drug store, a small furniture business, a post office, and a few other businesses. All of the buildings on main street were two story brick buildings linked together with no alleyways. Instead a portion of trim separated the businesses. There was one gas station in the town. I didnt see a single kid or person around my age while I was there. The store attendants were in their later sixties if not older. Everything closed on Saturday for the weekend at 4 pm. Uncle Dick lived in a retirement home in Ocean Park, another smaller town nowhere near the ocean and a few miles outside Kenowa. It was difficult to be there, because honestly I didnt know Wilma or Dick. It was the first string of meeting relatives I never really had the chance to meet until now. They were so proud of me for some reason. Maybe I had been talked up by my grandma in phone conversations she had with her sister every few months for years, I did not know. For not knowing anything about them, they sure both knew a lot about me, I am not sure how comfortable I was with this. For my grandmother to visit with her sister and brother in law it must have been wonderful but I felt kind of out of place. I remember looking out the window and seeing farm as far as the eye could see. It was the region which raised my grandma until she moved out to the west coast for a job opportunity in Seattle. It was the farmland, or stomach of America, having nourished the growth of so many families before they emigrated elsewhere in the mid-20th century. When they left they either found their way to joining the military or going to industrial hubs. To get to anywhere else but Kenowa Iowa. I didnt know what to do so I drew uncle Dick some pictures. I figured he had never seen Washington so I drew a picture of what I thought Washington looked like. I drew the water dark to represent the Puget sound, with a purple octopus under a teal green single narrows bridge spanning from Tacoma to Gig Harbor. I think I had just learned about the mythological giant octopus that lived under the bridge in the wreckage of the previous narrows bridge in my required Washington history class. I sketched the trees in a lovely dark green crayon. It was the concept of color I was familiar with, how color associated memory with different parts of the country. I was sharing this knowledge with Dick hoping he could understand a little about the area I lived in, since I was desperately trying to understand why anybody would live here. Nowadays the city was nearly desolate besides the

aging population of shop keepers and a few middle aged store help. Most of the farmers had lived on the land their entire lives until reaching an age where their health conditions made operating their farms no longer possible. The areas around Kenowa were now owned by major food corporations like Kellogg. Where did you think corn flakes came from? Iowa and Kenowa now was a large part of the corporate industrial food machine. It spurned through the combines a raw product to be manufactured into marketing ploys like classical children role models such as Tony the Tiger. A new generation of farms, not owned by the retired individuals who raised the land to be productive but governed by the corporate American food juggernauts. A trend easily realizable by the signs attached to the side of farm fields marked with a company logo. For residing in a retirement home in a town named Ocean Park I dont believe Dick had ever seen the ocean or even left the state of Iowa in his life. I felt this land locked feeling arising, for him he was content as could be. He was pleased with the first picture and we had some time in the retirement home visiting area. It was a good feeling to see admiration from a male figure so I drew him another picture. This time it was an airplane, I was really good at drawing airplanes, and I drew the plane my mom Grandma and I had travelled onto Europe the previous year before. I thought about how he had never travelled on a plane and included another window with Uncle Dick in it. It was kind of hard to tell it was him so I started drawing a large line and arrow from the face finishing it with the name Uncle Dick for a label. He loved the pictures and hung them on the side of his rooms wall. Years later, even to this day, my grandma would tell me that was something he cherished keeping it on his wall until his passing. Besides a vast majority of corn fields I saw a multitude of other crops being grown in this state that epitomized the heartland. The seldom areas of shade found at the edge of the corn fields or the sparse tree coverage functioned like sound waves oscillating throughout the day. We stayed there a few days in this ascending and descending shade. Time was spent memorizing the patterns associated with the shade because It provided much needed relief when we were outdoors. The temperature got close to the hottest I would experience on our trip while we were in Iowa. I remember it getting to nearly mid-summer at this point of our trip and not being able to walk bare feet on the asphalt. It was getting too hot for my grandma so she said a goodbye to her sister; the last pictures my Grandma would take with her sister and Dick were taken during the goodbyes. It was the last pictures as they both passed on before she could visit with them again. when the pictures were developed Mabel was nearly entirely in the shade from a nearby tree a possible foreshadowing to her soon passing. Dick lived a few more years. My grandma didnt attend either of their services. My grandma left in joy which must have been a welcomed farewell to a long life she had shared with that side of her family. The Pontiac fired up loaded with fresh vegetables and fruits from Mabels personal garden and we moved on towards Wisconsin. As we headed north east the terrain stayed the same. Then abruptly after I had my face stuck to a national geographic for hours I looked up and noticed, a forest! We had taken a detour to Minnesota. I dug my backpack out between the cooler and the other side of the van. At first I thought I left my map in Iowa. It was not in my bag, anywhere. Luckily when I dug through the

mesh backing to the drivers seat I found it. I marked the back track and it was only the slightest deviation, we were still moving forwards so the actual direction was still northeast. Grandma announced to me we were stopping in Rochester Minnesota to visit with more family on my grandmas side. Aunt Ethel and aunt Stella. Ethel was my grandmas aunt, her mother's sisters daughter, and Stella was her daughter, my grandmas niece. Their last name was Kotenbeutel, a heavy Germanic last name. My great grandma, whom I never met, emigrated to the United States before world war one from Denmark. They migrated then settled in the Mason City area of Iowa. Then when her brothers and sisters got older they scattered to different environments within the United States. Here were two elderly ladies who lived in Minnesota as a result of those actions. As we rolled into the their driveway situated on a hill that were very happy to see us dressed in their Sunday best. Both of them had such elegant makeup and dress, it was the lifestyle which raised them to act in this manner I believe. We took some pictures, had a quick lunch, and then went on our way. It was a brief stop mostly made for my grandma to see more of her family. I was actually starting to enjoy meeting all these new people; even though the odds were high our introductions would also be our goodbyes. Up to this point the people we met were elderly. Their faces were weathered from the hard work only people of their time knew. The kind of work the younger generation had limited knowledge of. Work like breaking your back in corn fields after school to put meat and potatoes on the table for dinner throughout the winter. Work like my grandpa did before world war two being a powder monkey. This job included duties such as lighting a fuse and running dynamite down into a mine then hurriedly running out. He worked in the coal mines of the cascades before joining the military after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Both of them had such elegant makeup and dress, it was the lifestyle which raised them to act in this manner I believe. Leaving Rochester the forests turned back into farmland transitioning smoothly as we crossed into Wisconsin. It was dirt and earth; infrequently our road took us over a streambed or drainage water way for the farms in the area. By this time I was missing the water. The smell of the sea so salty and aromatic sticking to the back of my hard palate. The taste of salt no longer could be felt from a sea breeze in the back of my throat. I had grown up around the Puget Sound my entire life. I wanted to wade into a swimming pool about waist high, raise my arms to the side, and fall backwards into cool refreshing water. I was an excellent swimmer. Having taken nearly 6 years of swimming lessons down the road from my house on the Key Peninsula. At Miss Dees house I had earned several Red Cross certifications saying I was skilled at swimming and rescuing in water. I could say I felt confident in my abilities if needed to test them in a real situation like falling out of a boat in the middle of the sound by accident. So far only one of the motels we had stayed at had a swimming pool there was no diving either. The deep end was 5 feet tall at the pool. I cant remember if this pool was in Montana, Wyoming, South Dakota, Iowa, or Minnesota. Wherever it was I remember my mom telling me the state had laws how deep it could be. I was longing also for that ability to dive into the water, surround myself underwater and just float. For me it was the greatest feeling ever. Back home, I had the opportunity of using the high school pool, or swimming among the clams at the Purdy Spit in the

frigid sound. Besides this single swimming pool my options on the trip so far were a shower or a bath, and floating in a bathtub had no comparison for me. The immersion in water was the best therapy I had for the loss of my father and I hadnt had it since starting this trip. I began to complain, Mom we need to find a swimming pool. Never telling her why. Mom we need a hotel with a swimming pool. Mom at the next hotel can we find one that has a swimming pool. It must have gotten incessant. It wasnt just the fact there were no swimming pools but we hadnt seen any large bodies of water for quite some time. Sure around the areas we went there must have been lakes, rivers, and streams but on the trip we had not made any effort to visit these. Even if we had I was too young to go swimming in a swift river, even I knew that. Driving through Wisconsin we headed north east up into the Ottawa national forest and wetland lakes areas. One evening we rolled through a thicker forest highway into a small town. The town literally was a motel, a rest stop, and a post office. It was one of many towns in the area named Fredericksburg. We were stopping to visit my grandmas brother Alvin. Him and his wife Marilyn owned the motel in town. It was a log cabin style two story motel with pale yellow curtains neatly hung beside each window of the 14 rooms the ground floor had. There was no pool in this motel either. Our room was free that night. I learned later during the recession of 2008 Alvin sold his hotel because as tourism took a sharp dive it became not profitable. He was an interesting character though when I met him he was wearing a truckers cap. His face had a thick dark brown mustache and bushy large eyebrows. He wore obnoxiously thick bifocals above his clean teeth smile. Both Alvin and his wife were very welcoming. They always had a genuine smile on their faces. They gave us the quick tour of Fredericksburg from the second story of the motel. Then my mom and I explored the second story. It was converted into a storefront for selling Christmas decorations Marilyn made all year long. Even though it was nearly the heat of summer Marilyn said they still sold some decorations. People travelled through here all the time heading to the hunting and fishing areas in the north of Wisconsin Alvin said. Also people heading to the Mackinac peninsula. Peninsula? Even I knew that meant there was a body of land surrounded by water on three sides. Maybe it was the great lakes we must be close to them here in Wisconsin, I remember thinking. I took to drawing again that evening. I think I may have even drawn a swimming pool with me in it. The adults discussed where we were going next as I drew. He keeps wanting to go swimming. Do you know any place along our way? Well you could take the route up through Mackinac Michigan. Youll cross this bridge and the lake is right there. My ears perked up. I didnt want to jinx it so I didnt say anything. I went to sleep early eager to make it to water, finally. The next day I could not contain myself to a national geographic or the same Nintendo powers I had already read over and over again. I didnt mind the Enya or John Fogerty as the Pontiac headed deeper into Wisconsins northern woods. My hands left hand prints on the glass that day along with a condensation mark from my nostrils breathing heavily on the glass. I strained my eyes looking for water. I had looked at my map for the trip measuring the mileposts to where we were on our journey towards lake Michigan. Then the road started to tease me. The

highway we were on crested towards the lake then back away. It repeated its sinister pattern for another hour or so. Then the mighty Pontiac broke through the tree lines into a clearing. In front of us was the Mackinac bridge and two of the great lakes on each side of the peninsula, Lake Michigan on our right and Lake Huron on the left. The sun made the white on the bridge glow under the sun. Okay we will stop, would you like to go to Mackinac island? Yeah, yeah just stop down close to the lake, I snarkily replied. We crossed the bridge and pulled off to a parking lot to the right of the roadway on the Lake Michigan side. It was the parking lot for the ferry to Mackinac Island. There was a steady breeze when I sprung out of the van. Ill be right back mom, I trailed from my lips as I nearly sprinted towards the water. David! David wait! Wait for us! I ran over the top of a small grass hill. I didnt even take my shoes off. I rolled up my khaki cargo shorts as I got closer and waded down to right above my knees. I took my hands running them across the rolling body of water. It was beautiful. There were rocks below the surface. I kicked a few around with my feet raising a small cloud of dust underwater. A few small minnows swam around nearby scurrying off when the dust rose up. There you are! Why did you run off like that? I heard coming from behind me. I just turned and gave a large smile. It was a smile I seldom gave during this time of my life. It was the needed immersion I had been without for a few weeks. Real water, not artificially placed as a swimming pool. It was not about the water itself I now knew, it was about being in the nature with the water. Come on we're going to get on the ferry it leaves in a few minutes for Mackinac Island. Just a minute Grandma I felt the moment for about 30 more seconds or so then got out of the water. Thanks Grandma I said to her after approaching her with legs dripping with water my shoes completely soaked. She may have looked at me kind of confused when I said this. Until now I have never really explained to anyone why it was so important to me. Just as the puzzled look appeared on her face Mom came over with an angry but relieved look on hers. You just run off like that! You cant do that honey, you cant just think. Augh, just think from now on! We got on the ferry crossing the growing choppy water to Mackinac Island. The island was beautiful. A grand Victorian age hotel was on the island; we tasted world famous fudge, and walked through the islands eloquent flower gardens. They were gardens full of bees though, a fear of mine I could not handle this day. The bees knew this too I assumed because they could not leave me alone that day. Only later would I learn the pheromone associated with fear they can sense and it attracts them wildly. We made it back to our car later in the afternoon. Mom drove through the Detroit area before stopping that night. One thing I noticed about our grand adventure in regards to our stopping locations, until Newark, they were never in stereotypical dangerous urban centers. I didnt have any understanding of crime besides what I had experienced in my short life up to this point or what I had seen on COPS. My expectation of all large cities were the most dense areas had to be like the worst parts of Tacoma. These positionalities have changed since up to today where I have a better understanding that crime occurs everywhere. At this time though I felt a sharp contrast to being in city with how my presence felt in nature. Its where I had spent the most time as a family while my father was alive

and after he had died. Therefore it makes sense I felt more safe in a forest or in the water then deep within a sprawling urban environment. Regardless we spent the night outside of Detroit then crossed the border, the international border, into Canada. Fortunately by taking the Mackinac Peninsula, through mainland Michigan, and driving through Ottawa Canada we shortened our travelling time to our next planned destination by a half dozen hours. My legs were beginning to get tired of sitting. To me it would have been better to drive straight through from Gig Harbor to Buffalo if I was making this trip alone but there were so many memories to be made along the way as a family I guess. The accident also put a physiological barrier on how far Mom could drive before having to rest for the night. This meant our trip was broken into 8 hours driving with 1 to 3 hour stops at a rest stop a day. It took us quite a long time in a nutshell and I was very happy the cut through Canada cut more than a half days time off our trip travelling. After the sun went down the night before it was hard to tell what the terrain looked like through Michigan. I saw lights becoming more frequent however. Single lane highways turned into mega highways now. The next day I saw what our journey had come to, a vast stretching metallic forest. Of course there were trees along the way, it wasnt all city scapes. The large mountains reminiscent of home and our trip through Montana were replaced by smokestacks of the heartland of industry. Steel smelters smoked smelly four air through the car vents. This changed in Canada. I rarely smelled hard industry or saw signs of over industrialization. To me this was a change from eye sores to the people who worked here the smell was dinner. I compared it similar to what my dad had always called the smell from the sawmills of Tacoma, the aroma of Tacoma. When I would complain he would say, That smell put food on my table when I was your age. A lot of the Doolittle family worked the Sawmills of Tacoma. Yeah right dad, how can smell put food on a table, I thought naively. Right now I had the same attitude, ew lets get away from this nasty smell as soon as possible. I saw a sign along the highway for London in Canada. I knew better that many places have multiple single names. Ooh look bug London, were going to England My mom said in a dreary bad English accent, she seemed exhausted from a couple weeks of driving. No Mom, London, is in England were in Canada. Smarty pants she retorted. Shortly afterwards we were in Toronto then crossing the US border again into Buffalo New York. Well you can tell all your friends like that Caleb kid you went to Canada on this trip too! Great Mom, I thought Caleb wouldnt care he would be too apathetic due to his highness. Grandma was sleeping, I know because she was snoring semi loudly. I pulled my trip map from her hands marking the route up to our current location. Tall steel and brick structures were erected around our driving path. The area was a lot like the Detroit area we had just escaped by driving through Canada. This was a different environment though. Unlike Michigan a lot of the plants we drove by in Buffalo had closed signs across barbed wire fences. Or the factories had boarded up windows with indistinguishable graffiti messages painted across them. Finally people could be seen shuffling by with shopping carts full of their personal belongings. I had the sense that the sawmills of Buffalo had already been closed down. Buffalo was a large city. When we crossed over the US Canada border near Toronto it took just under an hour for us to make it through the industrial wasteland. Why was

there such a sharp contrast? What had happened here to make such a wasteland of American businesses? I didnt have google or smartphone to be able to make my assumptions some form of factual judgment. I just had to use the creative imagination I was granted with. Even at 13 I could notice these subtle changes from place to place along our journey, the encompassment of American culture displayed in a two month journey across it. Once we exited the business district we were in the suburbs of Buffalo. The houses appeared mostly to be built in the 1980s era. I didnt see a lot of modern construction like back home in Washington. Lawns were up kept; a fertilizer induced bright green, in contrast to the darker forest our journey to the northeastern United States pulled us into. American flags were everywhere of every size. Nearly every house I noticed from behind the glass of the minivan were hanging a flag from their doorstep, had a flagpole, or a smaller flag on their mail box. This was a proud part of the country. The proudest American community I had seen on our trip so far. Everywhere else we had gone of course flags flew, but here the population hung tight to the American dream despite the fact easier times appeared to have come and gone for the large industrial working class. The Pontiac slowed down driving through a suburban neighborhood outside of Buffalo, grandma and my mom were discussing where Sherrie and Phils was. I thought maybe we take this turn. No Cindy we were supposed to get on this road to bring us... It was a common rhetoric I have regurgitated into two sentences because it was boring and I heard it often. While I have always been spatially aware of my surroundings sadly my mother and Grandma never were. They were always getting lost when we made any side trips off the freeway, or driving around a community even back home it happened sometimes. Its probably why I got so good at finding where I was. Again before Google maps made orienting one's position so easy, I had the software figuratively in my head. I mean this took pulling out a map, assessing common landmarks, seeing what the street sign said, and then taking my best guess. Which not to be immodest was nearly 100% right every time. I hadnt really voiced these opinions to both of them yet, it wasnt too dire at this moment. I was content letting them figure it out on their own. Later however knowing our way back to the hotel would become a pivotal part of the story when we were lost in the sun baked downtown D.C. area in a climate nearly 100 degrees Fahrenheit for a few days. More on this topic will be explored later, for now I tempered my tongue for the moment. Right now I was watching as what had happened a few times on this trip already occurred again. After a brief exchange of words between my Mom and grandma, we pulled into a service station or grocery store parking lot. My mom would get out but first ask if I needed to go to the bathroom. By this time most of the time I had to. I got out went to the restroom. When I came back always the same phrase, Bug buckle up, we figured know found out etc. where we need to go. Goody, I set my bottom onto my indented sweat induced canyon in the Pontiac Montanas backseat and we took off. Then a glorious revelation when we appeared to be lost again. Hey Cindy why dont you just call Sherrie? In this time cell phones werent as frequently used. Really the cell phone almost became a burden because of the weight of my moms Nokia had in her purse. I spent more time using it for gaming then my mom did actually.

When allowed I played a lot of snake and block ball buster games on it when the battery was charged on the grey and black lcd screen. I furiously clicking the crammed together four arrow buttons on the phone to control the games outcome. My mom made a point to charge it every night. I didnt always get to use it every day, and never when we were in the car travelling. She took it out of her purse and within two minutes we were at Sherrie and Phils after a quick emergency phone call gave us easy to understand directions. Sherrie and Phil were my moms cousins. They had two children Steven and Alyssa. Steven was a little older than me by a couple years. Their house was typical to the suburban area I have previously described. Phil worked doing collision repair and Sherrie was a social worker. Phil had a little bit of a beer gut, wore glasses, and was balding a bit on top of his head. Sherrie had a perm with darker hair. Both of them were a little husky with boisterous voices. Infact the whole family had that loud boisterous voices associated with New Yark. It was great spending time with them. We stayed about 5 days. The rest for all of us was greatly appreciated. One of the days Sherrie took the day off work. She took us on a tour of Buffalo, much of which we had already seen. Then she took us to Niagara Falls. One of the largest waterfalls in the northern hemisphere and of the larger hydroelectric power plants in the world at that time. We ate at a cafe overlooking the falls for lunch. Just the sheer power of this massive wall of water made one just stand back in awe. As the water landed hundreds of feet below the mouth of the falls it created a loud roaring noise. We took a tour where we got to stand on this slip proof deck below a certain area on the falls. Grandma did not participate in this short excursion. Everybody had to wear these caution yellow rain parkas to somehow prevent the massive amounts of water getting every article of clothing they were wearing drenched. As you may have guessed it really was quite ineffective. I remember being soaked from head to toe. It was almost a full immersion. I didnt mind but mom and Sherrie directed us back to Sherries house quickly after the tour. Everybody separately took a warm shower once we got back to their house. I took mine last. I didnt mind. Following a family dinner that evening after Phil got back from work, Steven and I messed around with his paintball gun. Paintball was something every 13 year old boy I knew on the Key Peninsula played. It was exciting. We all got to pretend we were teenage commandos running around in used army fatigues in the woods. I preferred to crawl through the bushes staying silent, and not blazing out a trail of loud twig breaking footsteps saying here I am guys. Steven had a pretty good paintball gun. It was an automatic bushmaster one of the first automatics made. It was pretty cool to see it shoot up some cardboard in his backyard. He was pretty into it. I however had only done it a couple times back home. My mom and dad were very concerned of me getting too involved in the whole gun culture. May 4, 2000 I had been talking with friends at school about getting a paintball gun. They told me I needed to get this model called a Tippmann Model 97. I asked mom about it that night, she told me to talk to dad about it. My dad came into say goodnight this evening and I asked him. Absolutely not was his answer. I threw a fit, I cant really remember the exchange of words between him and I but I definitely remember the last few words. Goodnight David, I love you. My response back to him was, No you dont, I hope you die. I

know now there is no link between these words and what happened the next day now but for a very long time those words haunted me. At 4:34 am May 5 2000 a drunk driver named Heather Karamatic crossed the centerline of Highway 302 on the Key Peninsula murdering my father David Bruce Doolittle. Needless to say paintball was an actual emotional issue for me from then on. My mom knew about the conversation my father and I had that night, probably from what he told her that may night before he went to bed for the last time. She saw Steven and I playing with the paintball gun that evening. The next day she did what she had done since his death; buy me things to cope with the grief. I dont blame her for doing this, but it wasnt necessarily the best response to coping with tragedy. If you were in this situation what would you do? I got the model 97, a face mask, camo clothing, knee pads, air tanks, and paintballs the next day at a store around Buffalo. After getting all the gear we were going to Mel and Lauries who lived further outside of Buffalo in the rolling thick forested hills near Syracuse New York. Steven and I were going to get to play outside Mels property in the forest. It was going to be 1 vs. 1, cousin vs. cousin. The property was beautiful. Forest covered a large portion of it but Mel maintained a large farm as well. Laurie had a large flower and vegetable garden adjacent to the house. Both the garden and farm portions of the property were cordoned off with fences created from whole logs. The kind which sat together haphazardly at awkward angles. The logs were older some half falling apart, chunks of wood missing from gradual rotting. It was the kind of wear intense winter storms with loads of snow provided. Their house was an older design probably built in the mid-20th century. It was very similar to my grandmas house today, red paneling with white trim. When I went to Sweden years later this was typical to their culture. My family was of Scandinavian descent, so it could have been a part of their culture they brought to the United States years ago. Then it began to manifest into our architecture many years later. Outside of the farm and housing areas was a large forested property. It actually ran down a ravine to a stream, perfect for Steven and I to play paintball. Mom and grandma spent time in the house with Mel and Laurie recounting their separate lives. Mel had been in Vietnam, drafted in the early 70s right after US involvement began. Mels father was Mel, my Grandmas oldest brother. He had already passed by the time we visited. My grandma hadnt seen Mel Jr. since he had gotten back from Vietnam. But a part of him never came back. Mel suffered from heavy PTSD as a result of the combat he saw during the war. He was a lanky tall man, serene in most instances. It was time for dinner. Mel called out to us to come up to the house. I think I was near the bottom of the ravine on his property when I heard it faintly. I was closing in on Steven with my tippmann 97; I thought he was dead ahead of me about 50 feet in some bushes. Then I heard Steven yell from the right, Hey David time for dinner, lets go! I shot off my paintball gun to the right. You little shit I could hear Steven say. Then there was exchange of fire as we made our way closer to the tree line. Close enough to the tree line for paintballs to start flying at the house. Mel was waiting just outside the tree line for us to come up when a paintball must have whizzed by his head. My mom in the car ride out of there said it triggered a flashback in him. He dove to the ground she said and then started screaming

incoherently. Both Steven and I could hear this. When we came out of the bush he yelled something at us. He was standing with a straight face looking neither of us in the eye. I noticed him being odd and Steven whispered to me he had a flashback. I said Im sorry Uncle Mel. He was within reach to slap me across the face. Whap, his large worn stress creased soldiers hands impacted my cheek. I had never been hit by an adult in my life. It stung incredibly. Mel then looked down seeing what he had done began to cry. Sherrie came and grabbed him cradling him between her collarbone and shoulder. Cmon dad lets go inside. They went inside and the rest of us proceeded to eat the dinner Laurie had made for us. My mom and Grandma didnt say a word to me. After dinner we left Uncle Mels without as much as saying a goodbye. I couldnt even begin to understand the horrors Mel must have seen in Vietnam. Here in America on his property Steven and I were recreating war with our paintball guns. I didnt play paintball much after that. When we got home I realized what a waste of money the gear was. No one in my new circles of friends in Gig Harbor played paintball. I was in a new environment so I adapted by selling the gear on this new website called craigslist to this high schooler at South Kitsap High School. I gave most of the cash I got from the transaction back to my mom. After that I never really wanted to play paintball again. Maybe it was the direction I needed, a quick disciplinary slap, from an unknown relative to set me straight. I didnt want to have to experience what he had just gone through, war was a tragedy. A tragedy I couldnt comprehend unless I had been there. A tragedy necessary for putting on the clothes of freedom in some instances but a stain against humanity we have yet to wash to out for the entirety of our existence. A day or two later we left Buffalo to go to New York City. Travelling across New York I was sullen, still in reflection of what had happened. I didnt even look at my paintball gun the rest of the trip. It got tucked under everyone's luggage in a separate smaller case we had bought for it on our way out of Buffalo. My mom even tried to return it but the store said all purchases were final. We could sell it back to the store though, merely days after purchasing it. I say sell it back because the money recovered would have been significantly less than what my mom dished out for this expensive experiment in social behavior. When I thought of New York I mostly thought of New York City. The state itself is populated in areas such as Buffalo and New York City but the areas I began to see better resembled the forested areas of Washington I was familiar with. There was a similar dark green to the trees to an extent. There were different types of trees all around. In Washington state I was used to the large tall trees with trunks wider than our car. From behind the glass view I saw a myriad of species. Large swaths were beanpole thin trunks with angled branches coming symmetrically to the ground. The bases of the branches set slightly off the ground on most of the trees. This was probably to accommodate all the snow I heard they got in this area I thought. Little animals of the winter forest probably made their homes in this snow dens underneath the trees. It was August however and there was no snow on the ground. I just had to imagine it. It wasnt long before the two lane northern New York highways turned into the many lane super highways of Central New York. We were still further than 200 miles from New York

City when the American super infrastructure appeared. Lanes packed full of automobiles at all times of the day. In Washington, before the second Narrows bridge was built, the worst traffic I had ever seen was when there was an accident on the Narrows bridge. Heading down highway 16 in this scenario away from Tacoma towards Gig Harbor traffic would be at nearly a dead stop for hours. This was a different type of beast. As our trip took us closer to New York City traffic was stop and go. Sometimes we would be stopped for 30 minutes then go for 5 to stop again for 15 more minutes. When this happened back home there was an accident or construction possibly. On this side of the country there was no rhyme or reason to it. Then the drivers. Semi-trucks would pass our tiny minivan at speeds well above the speed limit then change lanes to where my mom would have to slam on the brakes to prevent becoming a minivan pancake. Any slamming on the breaks resulted in horns, lots of car horns being fist palmed. Angry road raged expressions glared back at us with an arm raised in the air to be like what the hell were you doing or in other more derogatory terms. This occurred as the other drivers would pass us seeing our license plate was from Washington state after my mom would have to slam on the breaks. We made it to Newark, New Jersey that evening. Amid a mess of a urban jungle we found a safe holiday inn to rest for the night. The front counter service at the hotel told us it would be unwise to drive into New York City. After the abuse my mom had suffered at the drivers along the highway into the city she was fine with paying a cabbie for a couple days. We had a complimentary travel breakfast of bagels juice and coffee in the hotel waiting room. While we sat my mom asked me what I wanted to see. Of course I said the statue of liberty, the empire state building, times square the usual tourist destinations. Well today we are going to go clothes shopping. I had somehow in the travels destroyed or lost a large portion of the clothes I had taken with me. Since I brought nearly everything I had on the trip and school was right around the bend of summer it was probably a good idea to do some shopping. Grandma stayed at the hotel today. Mom and I went into the city. My eyes were saucers as our cab made its way through a sloppy mess of traffic. It gave my mom and I plenty of time to look around. I had never seen a city so large, busy churning out human activity. People were everywhere and packed into the streets. I tried to follow on the map we got from the hotel of the new York city metropolitan area where exactly we went but even I was confused. I was also spellbound by the entrancing sounds, smells, visuals I saw. The sheer amount of people somehow coexisting next to each other without disintegrating into chaos. It was astounding how society could function in such a matter. All types of people. The real true blending pot of American culture. A symbol of cultural cooperation for the entire world to see 24/7. It didnt stop when the sun went down either; it hasnt since the early 20th century. The city was alive breathing in workers, business people, the homeless, tourists like us then breathing us out when it was time to leave. Something which breathes cannot cease to breath, or it dies. so the activity I witnessed on this day had to continue throughout the night. This city was a living body to my perceptions. Only later would I realize how strong its immune system was to fighting infection. The cab stopped in times square. Mom and I got out for a brief minute after paying the

cabbie. By the time my mom realized we shouldnt have gotten out the cabbie was gone. No problem, it didnt take more then another minute for us to hail another cab. At first my mom whistled which did nothing among the over powering noise of the city. Then she clapped her hands over her head. Then waved while staring at a cab approaching. We got in. Can you take us to some clothing stores; I got to get him some school clothes. The cabbie looked through his rearview mirror at my mom and down at me. I could see deep dark eyebrows and squinted brown eyes laid onto a medium dark skinned face staring back. Yes ma'am. we can do that. He broke his gaze with me then drove only a few blocks away. There were a lot of clothing stores around. Hey can you wait here for us? We are only going to be a few minutes. Yes ma'am, I will leave this meter running and you pay what it says when Im done driving you. It made sense, as the old ache goes time is money and that was ever apparent in this bustling alive city. We went into a few stores which were all too expensive, so expensive I cant even remember the name of them. Then we went into Old Navy. Tried and true, I wore a lot of Old Navy clothing at that time. We bought a few large bags of school clothes. Then we had the cabbie drive us back to Newark, it was already turning to evening. Mom what about the empire state building and the statue of liberty? Sweetie we will do that tomorrow I promise. By the time the cab got back to our motel the bill was astronomical. My mom didnt have enough cash so she had to send me in to get Grandma while she waited in the cab. Grandma was napping, I woke her and told her, Mom needs money or this guy isn't going to let her go. She got up quicker than a 70 something year old women should. It was the choice of words which I didnt really think about. Shortly grandma paid the cabbie. After having dinner at a cracker barrel near the motel we sat in our hotel room and talked about the next days plans. Okay what should we do tomorrow? I think Im rested enough to get out tomorrow with you guys Grandma said. I want to stand on top of the empire state building and see the statue of liberty. Ok, I think with traffic we can only do one of those things. Why do you want to go to the top of the empire state building? my mom asked. Well because... its the tallest building in the country. Actually honey, the World Trade Center is. No way, really? Yeah, its a lot taller than the empire state building. You cant really see it from our motel but trust me My mom was right but I had seen the empire state building in so many movies. It was the icon of New York City along with the Statue of Liberty I remembered from my school books and TV shows. I didnt really want to go to this World Trade Center. See sweetie if we go to the World Trade Center I think we will have enough time to go the statue of liberty too. The conversation generally went like this as I remember. I was a little disappointed I wasnt getting what I wanted. The echoes of the lessons I learned from the paintball incident rang in my ears like the smack that was laid across my face. It made me more open to not getting my way, that maybe it wasnt always the best choice. I thought about it as I fell asleep that night. This World Trade Center better be pretty cool, I hope its super tall. I woke the following morning to my grandma talking with my mom. Mom didn't I tell Sherrie I would call her when we got to New York safely? I think you may have. Well what day is it? We have been here for two days alread y now. Why are you asking me, look at the

calendar. I think my cell phone has the date on the screen, Ill check that. Okay, dont wake David yet. I am going to hop into the shower to get ready. Call Sherrie first. Its August 11th we have got to speed up our trip a bit David starts school in about a month. Remember we have got to get moving south, Im going to surprise him and take him to... I trailed back off to sleep. It was hard to tell who was saying what in that conversation, so if there was a surprise coming maybe I should just ignore what was being said. A hour or so later my grandma woke me up. I rose stretched out of the comfy pillows my head sunk into on the holiday inn bed. Yawning half squinty eyed I put on some of my new Old Navy clothes and opened the plastic wrapper on one of my Kodak disposable cameras. On our trip we had already filled 2 of the camera rolls I had taken for the trip. Many of these pictures which we later developed are lost now but the pictures I took today I will never lose. As our cab that morning approached the World Trade Center I noticed how all the buildings were like steel walls on each side of us. They were offices of the financial area of New York City. Some were heavily raised into the sky to the point where the sun couldnt be seen in this valley of steel boxes. The people I saw in this area mostly had their business best on. I often saw either fresh dry cleaned suits on men or women in high heels business skirts marching in cattle lines to and from offices on the streets approaching our destination. The cars in the area were brand new waxed BMWs Jaguars and Mercedes, with drivers who always seemed to constantly be looking down at their watches or raising their hands in the air to protest some other idiot drivers ineptitude. The behavior was different but the cars were nothing out of the ordinary for someone living in Gig Harbor. This was the affluence of serious wealth. The circulatory system of the New York City living body. The blood vessels were the shiny cars carrying the cells to function the heart, the World Trade Center. I believe my jaw popped from dropping so fast when I first saw the twin towers. There was a steady stream of people coming in and out of the building. People standing selling hot dogs outside were the only people standing I saw. Everybody else had a directional movement either in or out of the building. When our cab finally stopped about a block away I would have sprung out of the car if it wasn't for being in the middle of the back seat between my mom and grandma. Grandma and mom could not keep up with me. David slow down. I wanted to move at the pace of these people, I felt experiencing this way would be the only way to understand this circulatory pattern. We entered the lobby and it was unlike any tourist stop we had made before. There was few annoying tour guides to direct us on what we were seeing, being there on the white marble floor in the open high ceilinged lobby explained itself. This was not just money, it was power. A symbol of the United States financial power over coordinating global economics. Where do we go? A few signs pointed towards the elevators for me. The steady stream of people heading that direction was a good indicator. There were over two dozen elevators in the lobby. A couple of those were designated express elevators for reaching the higher office floors and observation deck. Over here mom. I almost drug her and grandma through the crowd to the elevator. We had to wait about 5 minutes each time for it to return from travelling thousand feet in the air. The World Trade Center towers were twin towers that stood 1727 feet from the top of the antenna spires. The observation deck this elevator would take us to was at 1310 feet. From there not only

would I be at the highest point most humans would ever stand in a structure, I would also be able to see all of New York City. As we boarded the express elevator I noticed we were the only ones on this flight upwards who were tourists. I stuck close to my moms side among a sea of grey brown black suits. I wasnt full grown yet so I only came up to these important peoples armpit levels. I felt hidden and crammed into this environment. For an express elevator it sure took a while to gain floors. From the lobby to the observation deck took nearly 10 minutes! I didnt mind though. I did some people watching. One guy looked at his watch, another shuffled his briefcase. Another woman looked like she had to pass gas but didnt dare in the elevator. Although the elevator was constantly vented it would have been a travesty. She shifted to the back. It was quiet then a man started a conversation with a business associate. It was general hey how are you, good to see you, what have you been up to, etc. They got off on separate floors. The express only stopped for the top 20 or something floors I think. He said nice catching up with you waved and was out. Two passing friends making casual business conversation must have been what adults do I thought. After a belated wait and the elevator mostly emptying with the suits getting out on their respective floors we were at the area around the observation deck. My grandma didnt want to go up a flight of stairs that led to the observation deck. Mom didnt really want to either. They were content looking out the glass from the observation inside rooms below the deck. Begging and pleading got me the ability to go up by myself. It was cold at the top of the stairs where now a large group of tourists gathered. The wind this high above the ground rattled around the building creating a slight howl. I remember shivering, but not at all disappointed. From this perch of power I could see all of New York City. I fumbled through my fanny pouch I had brought for this day's excursion finding my Kodak camera. Walking to every corner of the deck I took a panoramic picture of photos looking straight out from the height and some looking down towards the ground over 1300 feet below. I took a picture of the statue of liberty, which from this height was miniscule in comparison to how large it actually is. Again I smiled. This was to be the best memory I had of my trip. Taking this experience in alone, without having to be rushed or taking nagging direction from my chaperones. Not only was it that, it became a memory shaping the outcome of my life. I saw people that day who a month later would be gone. I hoped they all made it out and I cried because not only was it a tragedy for so many people to lose their lives that fateful September morning but because I personally felt a connection to this place. I hid among a group of tourists surrounding the railings and took out my house key. D.D., I scratched into the white railing very softly, just long enough to last for a few weeks or until the railings got painted again. Then I stepped down the steps seeing my mom and grandma relieved to see me. We entered the elevator concealed from viewing the outside disappearing downwards towards the ground. I am forever grateful however I got to feel with virtually all my senses this environment on this day because what happened one month later began to direct me towards my place in this world. Leaving the World Trade Center we made our way in a new cab through the traffic congestion to a boarding point for a ferry to liberty island, the home of the statue of liberty. Everyone including me was getting a little tired. The cold winds from the top of the towers was

replaced with stagnant summer heat accentuated by being within the warmth of the city. The ferry took us a short distance to the base of the statue. Now I really noticed, this was the other ocean! I had been to both the pacific and Atlantic oceans now. The water was almost darker than the pacific even though the sky was blue its reflecting was deep and murky. Cold, this was the ocean that held the titanic. I had been obsessed with the titanic early in my childhood. I built replica models and read all of Robert Ballards books about the discovery. Even though the site was a distance from the Manhattan harbor, New York was the HmS Titanics intended final stop. I wanted to go to Ellis Island to see where the immigrants were processed during that time. We didnt have the time however. It didnt matter to me; I was still in awe of visiting the WTC and now about to dock with liberty island. There were plenty of tour guides on the island. Stagnant city heat was replaced by a gentle harbor breeze as I walked around the base of the statue. From here the statue of liberty was enormous again. Unlike its diminished size from the top of the WTC observation deck, the twin towers were as imposing on the landscape as they had been when I was mere feet from stepping in the doors. They held the same gravity and weight on my emotions. I pulled out my camera taking another picture from the liberty island shore. The last picture I would ever be able to take of these two testaments to the success of hard working Americans who called these offices their second homes. Here I was a 13 year old slightly chubby kid wearing my old navy clothes products of the rise of globalization, taking a picture of the archetypal symbol of globalization for decades. In each experience I made on this trip irony was ripe when I reflected then. Being the age I was though I didnt understand this, I was simply an American viewing the best of my countries combined culture I could through the eyes of a teenage child. Newark gets a reputation of being a seedy suburb of New York City. There is the TV show COPS, which I watched often in my younger years on a grainy bubble TV in my room, that paints Newark as a den of thieves drug addicts and the depraved. This wasn't the Newark I had the pleasure of visiting. Our motel staff was all friendly, everybody we talked to at restaurants or convenience stores were all helpful. Granted we didnt go to the bad neighborhoods but as I was starting to learn there are bad neighborhoods in all parts of a city. These were areas where opportunity was ripe to make something of the American dream, only the choices made were poisoning to its ideal form. Its hard to tell when we crossed the border from New Jersey to Pennsylvania because it was one continuous Metropolis on the eastern seaboard until we reached the south of Virginia. The only way I could tell was a road sign, Welcome to Pennsylvania, the Keystone State. I had seen a lot of these road signs. It was helpful state transportation departments put these up for travelers and for myself to mark on my map the continuing pen line of our journeys. Pennsylvania was going to be exciting. There was many trips we had discussed as a family we were all anticipating seeing. My grandma wanted to go to Amish Country. My mom wanted to visit the Hershey Chocolate Factory in Hershey Pennsylvania. Myself, I wanted to go to Gettysburg. I had always been fascinated with American History. It would be an honor to see where so many Americans laid down their lives for their ideal of freedom and rights. I had been reading up on the events surrounding the battle. There

were so many intricate facets to the battlefield, events so well documented by reading them you could feel like you were actually there. Soon I would actually be there, walking the same ground staring across the same plains hillsides and valleys the soldiers did hundreds of years ago. I will only recount the first time we visited Gettysburg on this trip as the second was mostly to see the same sites again. I have been to Gettysburg four separate times in my lifetime. Two times on this trip and another two times on a separate trip Mom Grandma and I made out to New York at a later date. The air around Gettysburg entranced me. It was not stagnant like the city but fluid crisp and cool. I felt like maybe some of the souls of those anguished had remained. The fateful lives whose bodies had laid there in contorting positions from a cannonball or musket shot impacting them had been where I was now walking. They occupied the fields on hazy nights as the locals made mention. Sometimes you can hear the cannons firing and men screaming one Lancaster native said when I asked him what there was to see at Gettysburg before we arrived. Lancaster was our forward operating base for moving among Gettysburg, the Amish Communities, and to Hershey. Even though our trip was quickly moving past the halfway point we spent the greater part of a week in the area. Around Gettysburg all manners of colorful flowers now grew, a poignant grown natural memorial to the struggle between opposing bodies of ideologies which had fought here. I wanted to go deeper though. I wanted to explore off the beaten path of what the majority of tour guides took the visitors to. I got my chance wandering off through the woods, away from the flowered areas into a thick tree line at the base of a hill. There was a gap in the tree lines between the base of the hill where a small grove of trees recessed into the landscape. A smaller company of Union soldiers had held up in the grove as the Southern army rolled over the hill top. It was a critical hold, where if the South could move through before reinforcements arrived they would be able to Flank a large portion of the Union army. From this encounter only a few of the soldiers had escaped to rejoin the main Union forces to tell the tale. It was such a dense grove even from my vantage point I could only envision the Southern muskets barely denting into it. Apparently the Union soldiers from an unadvantageous lower position managed to survive for days. There were unmarked graves on top of the hill, Southern fighters who had fallen in the ensuing battle. It was my piece of Gettysburg I returned to every time I came back. It was away from the constant click of cameras. There was peace and silence in this hallowed ground. An area I could honor the soldiers of both sides for their sacrifices. Sacrifices that formed the country we are today. I believe even if I returned to Gettysburg in the near future I would be able to find this spot without any aid. The imagery of this battle, the meaning behind it, and physical environment are burned into my brain until I am laid to rest in the soil of the very same country these men fought to form. I cant compare Hershey or the Amish areas we visited, to the experiences I have had at Gettysburg. Hershey was fun seeing the chocolate being made, a distinct production of American industrialism. The Amish communities showed me tradition and how folk culture can be preserved for hundreds of years amidst the rise of ever increasing technological breakthroughs. When we were visited the Amish area we attended a play of the story of Jesus Christ but the

local community. It was not a small theater though. An outside company had built the venue and the Amish were juxtaposed into the midst of a popular culture impressing values upon them. I saw one of the actors after the play take a drink from the water fountain. I had to think maybe this was against their traditions but I didnt say anything. The land was productive enough in the Lancaster region for the Amish to continue production of products they had been making for hundreds of years in their signature non modern methodologies. Now because folky products were trendy in pop culture, they could charge an exuberant amount for anything coming out of the area. Still my time in Pennsylvania will always be best remembered in Gettysburg. I have never written about it to this extent until now. Now I have a written record of my first experiences, so if my memory ever fails to remember how important these feelings were, as long as I can read it will remain with me. After returning to Gettysburg for the second time of this trip we left Lancaster. After leaving the town of Lancaster we reentered the metropolis of the eastern seaboard. We drove straight through Maryland where the Naval Academy is in Annapolis, a slight disappointment crept in. After all I had already seen the school was still a pivotal stop on our trip and we just drove by the exit when it came up. I didnt want to say anything because we had only a few weeks left. It would have been nice to visit with the school but I had a feeling I would be coming back this way sometime in the near future. Then as we drew closer I could see something which completely distracted me from any thought of visiting the Naval Academy, Washington DC. If New York City was the heart and its inhabitants made up the circulatory system, then the District of Columbia was the United States brain. The small peninsula of land sitting between two branches of the Potomac river welcomed me on a sunny august day. We crossed the stretch of it on a highway and entered Virginia. My mom got off the freeway after seeing signs for motels at the next exit. Then we drove around in what seemed an endless set of turns back and forth uphills and downhills. Eventually we made it to around Arlington, Virginia and found a cheaper motel to stay for a few days while we discovered the various sites in the nations capital. It was hot, and the motel guest help was not very clear on where their pool was. My mom and I ended up jumping a fence to swim in what we thought was the motels pool. It turns out it wasnt. A few not so kind people came out to berattle us into knowing we werent in the right neighborhood. Then when they saw we were just a couple of tourists trying to cool off they didnt care. A few of them even came and joined us to swim for a couple of the hottest hours of the day. By the end of the day we had made some new friends, who we would swim with during the afternoons the rest of our time there. They also gave us helpful tips on how to get around traffic, DC, and where to eat. It was amazing how their at first tough attitude had been broken down and some complete strangers became basically another branch of our extended family for a few days. Wake up bug its a big day. Were the words I heard next morning. I got up like usual. My mom told me to put on nicer clothes. I was a little confused. Grandma was going to stay at the motel and us two were going to go to the Whitehouse? my mom said. Something was fishy. It became even more apparent events were amiss when we passed through Washington DC again,

back into Maryland. Could it be? I got to sit for the only time during the trip not in my nook as well. It was a refreshing change. Is she really taking the Annapolis exit? I didnt want to get my hopes up for anything so I kept my mouth shut. Then we drove up to the school. Mom! Are we really going here? This isnt a joke? I dont know how it could have been. Yes sweetie, there are some people here you can talk to about what you and Frank at church have been talking about. Really? Really! I was beyond excited. The Naval Academy was one of the oldest schools in the country, it was so prestigious. I have literal dreams about being here after Frank and I had talked so much about it. We parked. Hold on Hun I have to figure out where we are going. I knew where we were going, and I knew at 13 how important it was to be talking to these people now. The next thing I knew we were walking through a set of large wooden doors with glass panels surrounding by a building made of grey stone. We walked down a loud tile hallway to an office. My mom talked to a receptionist. Yes Mrs. Doolittle, take a seat he will be with you shortly. The next parts are very hazy to my memory. I remember shaking this man in a suits hand. He introduced himself then we went back to his office. Its hazy not because I dont want to remember it but because the entire time I talking with him was like being in a surreal dream. So you want to go to the Naval Academy Mr. Doolittle. uh uh yes, also the first time someone ever addressed me as Mr. Doolittle. Are you getting good grades son? Yes sir. You want to be in the Navy; with a name like Doolittle I think you would want to join the Air Force instead. No sir, I want to be in the Navy. Why dont you tell me what you want to study here? I like science and airplanes. Maybe that. I just am... Son, Im impressed at the fact you came all the way from Washington state to meet with me today. Also that at your age you know what you want to do with your life. You come back with a good high school transcript, stellar SAT scores and I mean above 1450, keep your nose out of trouble, and those letters of recommendation Ill pass your application right along I guarantee it. Thank you sir. I shook the man's hand again, and then looked at my mom who was smiling large. Okay honey its time to go. It took me a minute to get up after the conversation and the man started to look at me a little bit awkwardly I remember. I got up and said thank you then left his office. As I left he said, I mean it, if you do what I said, youll make it in. It was tough but I managed a Thanks again Sir. Hey hold up son. he said as we were almost out of the reception area. Come here. You take this to remind you ok? I want to see you here in 5 years you understand? The man had opened his desk and put into my hands a navy blue hat with golden yellow letters USNA. I cherished the hat, holding onto it like it was the rarest diamond, but not even money could buy this gift in the manner it was given. I didnt break my grip on it as we exited the building. I hadnt put it on my head yet until we started to drive away. My mom had to break the silence with an awkward comment, I guess we don't have to go to the gift shop now do we? I love you mom, thank you. Ah bug youre welcome. The rest of the day was spent sitting in the hotel. It was enough for one day. Tomorrow we were going to see Washington DC, not tour the White House like she said wed do that day but see everything else we could. The next day started by going to Arlington National Cemetery in Arlington Virginia after breakfast. We saw the tomb of the unknown soldier and found my great uncle Jimmy Doolittle's

grave marker. Jimmy Doolittle was a general in the US Air Force. He flew the first raids over Tokyo following the attack on pearl harbor. For a number of years he held the single prop plane record for making it across the United States. I never met the man, his legend however hovered around family get together back home. Every kid in the Doolittle family was unofficially required to read, I could never be so lucky again. The book was his autobiography. Now I was standing in front of his white grave stone at the cemetery. It wasnt different from the graves of any of the other soldiers starting at the rank of private. Rows of white graves with gold letterings to mark the name rank branch of service and length of life of our nation's greatest heroes. I had never been so proud in my 13 year old lifetime to have the last name Doolittle. I was allowed a quick moment of reflection then we had to move on to see the rest of the D.C. area. The next area we found ourselves at was the national mall. It was a treasure of national monuments and museums. My mom said we could come back tomorrow so I asked if I could pick where we went today. First we visited the Lincoln memorial. The larger than life president sits authoritatively on his perch overlooking the reflecting pool at the national mall. It had been over a year since I lost my father now and his composure reminded me of how my dad would sit in his chair watching a motorcycle race or the PGA finals. Both poses didnt just allow both of the men to just listen to what captured their attention but to display their dominance over the current environment. It was comforting to think of the memorial in this way. It also made me think. I no longer had a living father. Could I just assume this statutes ideals were the physical manifestation of my father? The ideals of being a proud American citizen, ready to do by my family (the United States) whatever was necessary to keep it healthy. To stand by it despite criticism and always have its back. To never say, I hate you, and I hope you die. when times get tough. It was a second chance to be raised by a figurative male figure. It was a conceived thought here, which would bluster then possibly bloom later in life. Moving on we went to the Smithsonian museum. I loved going to museums. I was off on another adventure. My Mom and grandma took a seat, unable to keep up with me. Then after an hour they came looking for me. Next the holocaust museum. My mom asked This is going to be really depressing bug are you sure you want to go in here? I shook my head yes. You know those commercials that have a starving child in Africa and ask you to give a few dollars a week? Every time I saw those commercials, still sometimes to this day, I will cry or did cry. I dont cry out of sympathy, I cry because there is so much hurting humanity. It is like we constantly struggle with the same problems repeatedly not making considerable forward progress. Viewing the result of some of the worst hurt we have inflicted on one another is necessary I believe. The holocaust museum memorialized the lives of the Jewish peoples and other undesirables persecuted then killed during the Nazi reign of Europe. It brought awareness to whoever visited it the true spirit of humanity. Because as these people were led off to be murdered or starved to death in concentration camps they did not entirely break. Just as in the past where the Babylonians captured the Jewish tribes of soon to be Israel, their faith preserved them. It was getting late into the evening. The museum was dark already and the last room I walked through I will remember for life. It was a room full of shoes, all in the original state they had been when

the people were forced to take them off before being issued their concentration camp fatigues. It was just a percentage of the shoes recovered from one camp. I couldnt help but cry. From wall to wall there was only a thin path for the visitors to walk through. The piles stood approximately 5 feet high pyramiding to a few layers high at the edge of the path. Around were pictures of holocaust victims and survivors. It was numbing to think about how a few times on the trip I complained about my shoes hurting my feet. There were children shoes too. I couldnt take it anymore; my mom gave me a hug then ushered us out the door. A video near the exit had a thank you from Steven Spielberg for attending the museum. It was a call to action I believe to never forget what happened and in doing so foster goodwill among one another. My mom was no longer hungry for dinner. We met up with grandma who was chatting with another elderly couple on a bench in the growing shade. After mom gave her a minute to say her goodbyes to her new friends we started walking back to where the Pontiac was parked. It had been an exhausting day. Everybody was ready to konk out. Emotionally I was on edge having welled up several times while walking through the exhibits at the holocaust museum. At the car we all loaded with a solemn thump into our seats. Then like usual we were lost again. It complicated matters further when my mom realized D.C. was full of one way streets. It only took a couple minutes for my tired mother and grandmother to start arguing about where we were. Then where we were going. Like I said before, I had heard it several times. I took out my US map for the trip when I had unfolded it I flipped it over to find a map of the D.C. Metropolitan Area. Fantastic. There were so many side streets we passed as mom drove further into being lost. The city streets were like a maze of grey matter and my brain was the electrical impulse to produce directions from it. Then a clue arose, Well Cindy were in Georgetown now, dont you want to stop and ask someone? Where Mother? every time I get close to a gas station there is another one way street we have to go down. You tell me where to go. Then I took my moment to speak, Hey Mom I think I can get us back to the motel. I then proceeded to direct us turn by turn back to the motel. Half of it was the map and when I didnt have the answer from the map I used my natural keen sense of direction I possessed. When we pulled into the parking lot for the motel the sun had just about set. My mom turned to me and asked, How did you do that? I just raised the unfolded map with one hand, shrugged my shoulders, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was my first victory with navigation, a skill I do believe is one of my defining characteristics today. I was under the impression that we were going to go back to see more sites at the national mall the next day. Instead my mom had us pack up; I think she had enough of getting lost for the trip. We did go back into D.C. though but never got out of the car. We drove past the White House. Slowing down only because there was lots of traffic with how close we could get to it I could barely see it. No matter, I know I would be back one day. Not only to see it but to tour it, as a guest or. I had big aspirations for my life. I wasnt letting the death of my father, any disability from when I was younger, or bad choices get in my way of my dreams. It was an naive way, as well as powerful perception of the world. Just like the United States I felt unbeatable. If the worst life could throw at me was the death of my father to make me fail, I was going to fight

harder until I reached those goals. My mom made the next turn onto a one way then miraculously back onto the freeway. Time was running out for the next couple days she drove 12 hours a day. It cut the land into colors. Green until the Midwest, then brown, yellow, brown, orange, yellow outside Denver, then the greens of the Rockie Mountains. Along the way we stopped in Kentucky at a motel infested with some of the largest spiders I had ever seen. This making it nearly impossible to sleep. Kansas City, Missouri where crossing the river I saw the St Louis arch at 75 miles per hour behind the glass. Then throughout most of the Midwest I put my face back into books. However I had read out all the national Geographics and Nintendo powers I brought. Instead I had been accumulating history books of the areas we had visited. I read them as the colors changed in the scenery. One was on a ship that sunk in Lake Michigan, a book about Gettysburg, another book about Gettysburg, the course catalog for the USNA I picked up while visiting the campus, and a book about cavemen I got in the Smithsonian museum. It was enough material to swell my head into a few naps throughout the long stretches of driving. As we pulled into Denver my mom said we would stop in Aspen for the night. Even though it was summer, I thought there would be snow. I was wrong. Instead it was a steady hot temperature throughout the night. I didnt believe they would even have air conditioning at this altitude, we were all pleasantly surprised to find out they did. It still was not enough. We all left sweat outlines in the beds for the morning cleaners. Hurriedly we packed up. When we drove into Salt Lake City it was one of the highest temperatures the city has ever had 126 degrees Fahrenheit. It was a dry heat that peeled sweat off your brow, nearly boiling it away into an air with no condensation. My mom and grandma didnt get out of the car but sent me into the grocery store to get us some bottled water. The cash attendant was sitting down when I came to the counter. I could hear a small fan below the register blowing recirculated hot air onto her. She stood up. Is that all for you young man? uh huh. She could see I was miserable in the heat. Believe me this is hot for us here too. Thanks, I handed her the cash then returned the water before it evaporated I thought to my family. Each of us downed nearly the entire 20oz Aquafina bottle I had brought back. Within 15 minutes more of freeway driving everybody had to use the restroom. We found a grocery store right off the freeway. Once we got out of the car, my flip flops began to stick to the asphalt. It was so hot the rubber was heating under my 10$ pair of cheap flip flops. This was insane. We got into the store and realized it had AC. After everybody used the bathroom, my mom said for us to follow her lead. We walked around this small grocery store for 30 minutes pretending to shop for a few things while cooling off. When we all felt a bit refreshed my mom pushed the cart into the cart holder and we all walked back into the sun. A lesson learned in the following moments was how much of a waste of time it was to attempt to cool off. Immediately the heat tore from us any relief we had obtained. My grandma had such trouble breathing she went back inside to buy us more water while Mom cooled down the car. Opening the sliding door of the Pontiac Montana a blast of oven like air emitted. The seat belt metal was so hot it could not be touched without eliciting some kind of mild burn on our finger tips. My mom got the AC running cool enough to get back into the car. She pulled up to the front of the store and honked for

grandma. How rude I thought, and I got out took the bag of water she had been holding. All of us seated we rocketed off onto the freeway towards the Bonneville salt flats. Consequently when we had gotten out of the city environment yet again the climate cooled. By the time we reached Bonneville it was actually pleasant enough, in the upper 90s, to get out and enjoy the vast open space of the salt flats. It wasnt necessarily a tourist destination many great American travellers would visit. It was however where my father rode to on his motorcycle. I tried to grasp why? It was an area where people would test out the speeds of their vehicles and he did race motorcycles. Only once or twice a year this happened. Before he met my mom, he had told me he made the trip more than several times a year. I thought really hard, and then it dawned on me. Just as I had drawn personal connections to several of the sites we had visited, he had drawn a personal connection to the salt flats. It was a revelation that made the whole trip make sense in my head. It wasnt where we went it was the feeling associated with the spaces reaction to us. Life can be an interconnected web of ideas, experiences, or whatever we make it. The associations I drew of place were my memories. Places and memories so vivid they left their imprint on me, onto my perception of what reality is. After having lived another lifetime in terms of the age I was when I left for this trip in 2001, I head back to Virginia this summer to finish off my collegiate education at Old Dominion University. I love the east coast as much as I love the west. Most likely this trip will be my last cross country trip for a while. I intend to stay there and cultivate those memories into an even further reality of what it means to me to be a United States citizen. I am motivated impassioned and ready to see what else this great country has in store for me. I take my own vehicle this time, a few suitcases of luggage, a suitcase full of books, a few picture books, my art, art supplies, a high definition lcd TV, my laptop of course, a cell phone, some comforters, pillows, my adult mind, the aspirations I have for the next chapter in my life, and of course the mental map I started to build internally with every stop we made on the trip my family made the summer of 2001. A trip stretching from sea to shining sea.

A note from the author; You have now taken this journey with me, in concept and aided with the visual mental map painting meant to accompany this short recount of my trip. In combining these factors I hope I made the imagery as real as it can be for you. As a result my wish is that my memories can be yours as well. I encourage you however to make your own. Take a trip across the country by car, not air plane. Whether you start on the West or East coast, go from wherever you are into a brief unknown towards one end then back again. Visit a relative or make a new family out of strangers. Go to some quirky off the road amusement monuments and be disappointed. Go to the sites where you are not expecting to be impressed and leave with a new sense of place. See the living body of the east coast I witnessed, functioning across this great land. Do whatever it is you must. I was blessed with being able to undertake this trip at the age I did. It probably in more ways than one saved my life. Use only a paper map to guide you and see what discoveries you make in this golden land of opportunity. See what imprints the United States will put into your reality. Maybe if enough of us can feel the impacts of the good aspects of the culture we have been brought up in, we can preserve its sanctity for all future generations. Thank you, and God Bless the United States of America.