Something that a lot of people do not know about me is that I like to collect rocks. More specifically, I like to collect rocks with sentimental or historic value. One of my most treasured possessions is a rock from our home in Georgia, coated in the characteristic “red clay” that I love. I also have a rock from Utah: I got it from my teacher during an object lesson in YW—it says “Sin” on the back in black marker… I have a random rock from the top of a random mountain in Utah. It was during some random Youth Conference when a random group of us randomly decided to go up this mountain by ourselves. Fortunately (or perhaps, randomly), none of us was injured or lost.
However, I’ve kind of slacked off in my rock collecting habits of late, and was not reminded of them until just recently at Mt. Vernon, standing in line to get to see the Mansion, when it occurred to me how cool it would be to confiscate a pebble—possibly one trod on by the boots of the great George himself—and take it home with me as a free souvenir! And then, perhaps later I could get one from Monticello, and one from the Mall, and one from Lincoln Memorial… It was as if my eyes had suddenly opened to see a wealth of historic treasure in front of them! And all FREEE! Too excited to think any further, I immediately began scanning the ground, looking for the perfect rock to convey my emotional sentiment and reflect my concept of the persona of Washington. At THIS moment, and I kid you not, something unexpected happened.
All this while in line there were a few little Asian kids in line behind me. They were all very cute. The little girl in a pink jacket, in particular, was full of imagination and creative genius: One of her previous self-implemented games had consisted of standing on a hill shouting out “1, 2, 3…” and so on until she broke the cycle by running down the hill. Anyway, she had gathered her siblings around her and had they were now all busily engaged in artistic organization and redecoration of the grounds—i.e. picking up little rocks and dropping them. Out of nowhere, a lady wearing a uniform walked smilingly by, and said pleasantly but firmly, “The rocks need to stay here, okay?”
I was crestfallen. Why did this spoil sport lady have to choose THIS moment to walk by? Why did the children have to be playing THIS game? Why were THESE words spoken? Why, why, why? And really, why? What would taking one little rock harm? Of course, if EVERY tourist took a rock, I could understand that there would be difficulties, but surely exceptions could be made for sentimental rock-collectin’ goddesses. Without a doubt, people got rocks in their shoes all the time and carried them off without guilt. And who was she anyway to say that the rocks belonged to the estate? This was Mt. Vernon, home of the first founding father of America! Surely the rocks should be free and equally shared by all!
At this point, we got significantly closer to the Mansion house, and my concentration was broken again for the tour. After the tour, they turned us loose on the beautifully situated gardens and grounds and I wandered around, having forgotten my rock scheme altogether. The view of the Potomac River was breathtakingly gorgeous, and I climbed down a little hill to get as close as I could. Once I was behind the hill and out of sight of every other person, my foot hit something. It was a rock.
No. Not just a rock. Its size, its color, its weight—everything was A PERFECT replica of all the dreams and memories I had and could have associated with Mt. Vernon. This rock was meant to be added to my collection, just as I was meant to find it (name that movie). It was its destiny.
Then the conscience kicked in. What about… But she said… You know better… And, strangest and weirdest of all, What would George Washington think? I didn’t really suppose anyone would care. It was, after all, just a rock. There were plenty more in Virginia and elsewhere. But, on the other hand, since the choice was between a clean conscience and a rock… Well, when the time for performance comes, the time for preparation has past, and I was already onstage in the second act of Rock-robbin’ Rationalization. I knew what I had to do. I chucked that rock over the fence, effectively ridding myself of the temptation while simultaneously rebelling against the implied law to leave things EXACTLY as they were on the properties of Mt. Vernon. And then I climbed the hill, and sighed wistfully with regret. Regret for failing to wear some pebble-catching socks and sandals, that is. Maybe next time.
2 comments:
Sad, lone, forlorn little entry. Not a single comment. Well, make that not a single comment from someone else.
Sorry!!! We still cannot keep up with you even though you no longer post every day. I love the phrase "rock-robbin' rationalization." I may have to ask your permission to quote it someday. And I do the same thing in different ways, like tearing up or cutting up paper, sending letters and cards, doing homework, taking tests, just to say that I did them and no longer have to dread or look at them anymore.
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