My mother is working on her memoirs, and when she sent me this I couldn’t help thinking of the similarities between her story—from over 50 years ago—and Maryanna Newton’s reflections on the recent Obama inauguration.

June 3, 1953–Coronation Day

By Penny Carless

I spent the night before the coronation camped out on the Mall in London, amongst many thousands of others, young and old, from all over the British Commonwealth and world.  Our much beloved young Queen was to be crowned Elizabeth II in Westminster Abbey and we were all there to cheer as she, and so many other dignitaries and royalty from all over the British Commonwealth, passed by in wonderful fairytale carriages. 

There were servicemen in their ceremonial uniforms marching to military bands, brass instruments polished to look their very best.  The only problem was it was  raining.  It didn’t dampen our spirits one bit but some of colors in the ceremonial whiting and blacking ran!

I don’t remember it raining during the night and it wasn’t a downpour, thankfully but it did make things a bit less than perfect.  We heard a piece of exciting news that morning which made us forget the rain; we were told that Sir Edmund Hillary had conquered Everest, the first man to do so.  What an addition to an already incredibly exciting day.

The crowd was fun; friendly folks all around; all of us with different food to share and so many different languages, accents.  I was with a boyfriend called John–last name escapes me–who was quite tall and strong and we were able to get in good position to see everything.  The procession passed us on the way to the Abbey and on the way back, which was so exciting.  Once the Queen and guests were back in Buckingham Palace the crowds were allowed to gather directly outside the palace where we cheered everyone some more as the royal party came out onto the balcony.  The rain stopped and the sun came out as the Royal Air Force flew over the palace in a salute–and we cheered again.

I don’t think anyone born in the US can really understand the deep feelings so many of the British people have for their King or Queen.  We were brought up to think of them with such respect and they were considered really a benign and much loved, albeit somewhat austere, relative.  The monarch is completely apolitical–at least in public.  They are not involved in governing the country in any way and their duties are entirely ceremonial.

Elizabeth II’s father was George VI. During the war King George and his wife Queen Elizabeth (later known with great affection as the Queen Mum) were such a strong figurehead all during the blitz.  They could have left London for the country during the bombing but elected to stay in the city and every morning they would be found out amongst the people who had been bombed the previous night.  It helped to dispel the misery somewhat.  Buckingham Palace did in fact get bombed, but not seriously and I don’t think anyone was hurt.

George VI had a particularly warm place in our hearts.  He had never expected to be King.  He was the second son of George V but the eldest son, Edward, had chosen to abdicate and marry an American divorcee, Wallis Simpson, much to most people’s absolute disgust.  King George was rather frail and had a terrible stutter, which made giving speeches so painful for him.  Every Christmas Day the King or Queen addresses the nation at 3pm; in our day it was on the radio but I’m sure it must be on TV these days.  Most people would stop their Christmas festivities to listen–it was a wonderful tradition.  We would all agonize with the King when he had problems with his stutter.

George VI died in February of 1952 and the country was devastated.  His eldest daughter, Elizabeth, was on an official tour in Kenya with her husband, (then the Duke of Edinburgh) and was called home to assume the role of Queen.  She was in her early twenties at the time, so young.

The King’s body lay in state in Westminster Hall, adjacent to the Houses of Parliament, for several days so that the people could file past to pay their respects.  I was in my final year at school and was allowed to go up to London with three other sixth formers to represent the school.  I remember we stood in line for what seemed like a very long time and then filed past the coffin, guarded on all four corners by servicemen in ceremonial uniform; much like when a dignitary lies in state in the Rotunda in the Capital in Washington.  Very impressive and moving.

In the two main daily papers there was always a column called the Royal Circular, which listed the places the members of the royal family would be that day.  If I was in London I would always look and see if the Queen was going to be anywhere near where I was and I was lucky enough to see her passing by several times.

Even though I have been away from England so long now I still have a warm place in my heart for the royal family and enjoy seeing pictures and reading articles about them.  I’m sure it seems strange to some but it seems to be a feeling that never goes away.

A beautifully written and inspiring essay by Global Village homeschool 9^th grader Maryanna Newton:

When I found out I was going to get to go to the 2009 presidential inauguration, I freaked, and I couldn’t wait! Then I found out that two of my very best friends were going to go with me and it made it even better. I couldn’t believe I was going to get to see Obama get sworn into office! Everyone knew it was going to be one of the biggest moments in America’s history. I found out that I was going by bus with the school that I used to attend. We would meet at the school at 9 P.M. and we would be on the buses ready to roll at 10:00 P.M. only to arrive in Washington D.C. at 4:00 A.M.! As planned we pulled into D.C. at 4:00 A.M. and nobody had slept at all on the buses, but the adrenalin was enough for most everyone.

It was by far, the brightest night I had ever seen, bus and car lights were everywhere, the city looked amazing. We pulled in with a few hundred other buses to an already half full parking lot and got our metro tickets. Then we walked with a huge crowd down a gated walkway to the shuttles. All along the path there were people— girl scouts, boy scouts, adults, vendors—everyone was welcoming us with energy, asking us where we were from, greeting us with smiles, all at 4:00 A.M. Everybody seemed so much more alive than usual.

We got on a shuttle that took us closer to the National Mall where we walked down the crowded streets with cops directing traffic and little orange cones everywhere and lighted signs, buses, cop cars, ambulances, fire trucks, all in the middle of the roads.

We got to the Mall and filled in behind the crowd and found a good spot close to a screen projector that showed what was going on on the capitol steps. It was cold, but it was perfect. Everyone was pushing and shoving trying to catch up with others, there were moms and group leaders running around looking for teenagers that got separated. It was chaos.

Everything was decorated beautifully and the marine band and girls and boys chorus of San Francisco was performed very well. The crowd was all hyped up and very positive, the happiness was felt all around; strangers were talking peacefully, and hugging after the first couple of hours. It was a peaceful gathering of the nation. The cold was also felt all around, we had hand and foot warmers with us, but we used them anywhere they would fit, our coats, pants, socks, hats, gloves, scarves, anywhere! At 4:30 A.M. it was about 15 degrees, then the sun came up and it warmed to a “toasty” 25, maybe 30 if we were warmer than we thought.

Hours passed as we waited, and waited, and waited, and waited. They showed the inauguration concert from Sunday night that was held on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial on the screens, but it was rather difficult to watch while we were jumping up and down to keep warm.

Finally the Inauguration ceremony started, as well as the tears. Just thinking of how the Obama family must have felt, to feel the energy of two-million people together in one place, peaceful and happy, and so positive was amazing. It was like all my body had gone numb; no longer could I feel the cold, the tears on my face, the weight of my extra clothes, all I could feel was a smile on my face and the chills throughout my body. The moment was happening. Martin Luther King’s dream wasn’t a dream anymore, it was reality.

After President Obama spoke, our group had to get back to the buses. It sounds a lot easier then it was though. The bus was 3 miles away and we weren’t going to take the metro with two million people. That was the other issue, there were no directions, there was one way: with the crowd. We finally got to a clear area and looked at a map, but the streets we had planned on walking were down for the parade, along with all public transportation except for the metro station.

We finally found out way back to the buses, asking army guards and bus drivers where to go. When we got back on the bus it was about 5:30-6:00 P.M. and we were all exhausted after walking about 6-8 miles. On the way home we all had some time to think and reflect on what we had just witnessed, and that’s when I realized, anyone can be someone, and anyone can make a difference and Barack Obama is proof. Also that people tell me “You’re the youth of America, therefore you are the nation’s future.” But I’m not, as America’s youth, I am not the future, I am now.

   

It starts out as it usually does.  We are doing some seemingly benign activity that families typically do.  This time we are eating dinner at a fast food restaurant,  in Anytown, USA.

My son, Jason, is seven years old.  Biracial, he is cute as can be—a fine example of hybrid vigor with his soft, curly hair and caramel colored skin.  We are having an animated discussion about football, his favorite sport.  Jason is making sure that I know which teams are ranked in the top ten and who his favorite players are.    

Football is not my strong suit, so I get these quizzes often, my erroneous answers triggering the laughter I love to hear. So engrossed in our conversation, we do not notice that a middle aged, Caucasian male, looking like an ad for Eddie Bauer, has approached our table. 

“That’s a handsome young man,” he interrupts, smiling at Jason.

“Thank you,” I respond, unable to keep the pride out of my voice.

“Are you babysitting for him?”

“No, he’s mine.”

“A foster child?”

“No.”   Not again, I groan. 

“Did you adopt him?”

“No, I went through twenty-one hours of labor and gave birth to him.  He’s mine,”  I answer with a voice that surely conveys my desire for this conversation to be over.

“Why doesn’t he look like you?”

Seriously?  What gives a total stranger the right to disrupt my treasured time with Jason, only to satisfy their curiosity?   “My son looks more like his father” I explain, “who is African-American.”

The face of our uninvited visitor turns as pale as the white button-down shirt he wears.   There is blessed silence while he gathers himself. Shooting me a look of condemning censure he walks away, finally speechless.

Jason has been quiet through the conversation, intently looking at a speck on the floor, food forgotten.  Wise beyond his years, he raises his head and looks at me lovingly.  “It’s Okay Mom,” he says.

But it’s not.    

Fast forward three months to a beautiful summer day in the park.  We’re enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon all stretched out on a big blanket.  I’m reading the paper, and my husband Oscar and Jason are talking about…what else?  Sports. 

Oscar leaves to go to the bathroom—a man dressed in military uniform approaches our blanket.

“Is that your boyfriend?”  he asks.

“No, he’s my husband.”

“But you’re such a pretty girl.  Surely you could have had your pick of anyone.”

Really?  Are you kidding?“ Is this actually happening?   Yes,” I answer, fighting to keep my voice pleasant.  “That’s a good thing about being attractive.  I got my pick.  I picked my husband and I would pick him again today and….”

Before I can finish, the military man turns on his heel as if he is in formation and walks away.

Once again, it seems as if my choices for my life have threatened another’s view of how the world should be.

This time Jason says nothing.

Jason, now 25 voted for Barak Obama, never believing he would be elected.

But he was, and there will be a new conversation.