My Weekend: Nathan the Reenactor, Daddy the Company Commander, and a 9/11 Moment

Nathan attended his second reenactment this weekend and he did great.  Part of it is that he's an easy-going guy who likes people (and they like him).  Part of it is I think the open spaces and fresh air are good for him (especially since he's growing up in a large city - something I never had to do).  Part of it is that reenacting is fun.  And part of it is our wonderful Camp Mom Judy and her daughter Rebecca, both of whom spent a lot of time watching Nathan so Daddy could go lead troops in drill and battle.  Big thanks to both Adams girls.

Turnout at Nevada City was small this year, as usual, so our company commander decided to fall in as a private.  I think part of it is that he misses firing a musket, and part of it is that he will no longer be captain next year, and he's trying to groom me for the position.  I've already informally announced that I will be running for company commander next year.  As First Sergeant, I already run the camp, and have been all year.  It's been more work than I expected, but I've enjoyed it.  I've especially enjoyed drilling the company; we're improved a lot this year and we look great on the battlefield.  But the commanding officer is the one who leads men into combat, so I have very little experience in that.  I learned this weekend that it's an entirely different challenge.  You can't just tell people to "move forward;" there are specific commands for each maneuver, you have to remember what the men have been trained for and what they haven't, you have to listen to orders from your commanding officer, you have to be aware of what the enemy is doing and the condition of your own men (ie. if they've all been shot), and you have to be able to make decisions instantly.  While being shot at.  Oh yeah: and you have to make yourself heard over the gunfire all weekend, without losing your voice.

I think I acquitted myself well this weekend, but I have a lot to learn.  I need to work on my outside voice and my command presence, and I need to give commands faster.  But I think I'll get there.

I'm sure everyone noticed that Saturday was the anniversary of 9/11.  Naturally, we observed our own small 9/11 memorial.  After the first battle, we asked all the reenactors who had actually served in the US armed forces to step forward.  While the spectators watched, we all stood at attention, our bugler sounded Taps.

Previously I've only looked at 9/11 in two ways: how it affected me personally, with my memories of being on the roof of the Twin Towers, and how 9/11 affected national policy, with the subsequent invasion of two countries and the prison at Guantanamo Bay.  But sitting there watching people's faces during our simple ceremony, I became aware of another aspect of 9/11: the pain that every single American felt on that day, and the scars that remain with every single one of us.  When my mother woke me up that morning, the first thing she said was that our cousins in New York were ok.  While most Americans did not lose a loved one that day, it was something that hurt every single one of us on a personal level.  Politicians on both sides have tried to leverage that emotion for their own political gain, but underneath it is a quiet dignity and personal sense of perseverance shared by every American.

There we were, reenacting a completely separate conflict that happened 150 years ago, and I reflected on how much America has endured as the world's first democratic republic.  During the Civil War, there was a lot of doubt about whether the "American experiment" would succeed.  After almost 250 years, we are more confident in our survival as a nation, but it took a lot of suffering and a lot of fighting to get here.  To be sure, there are stains of guilt in our past, such as the wholesale slaughter of Native Americans and the internment of Japanese Americans, not to mention the mass enslavement of African Americans or the disenfranchisement of immigrants, poor whites, and women.  But the American flag has always stood for something noble and grand, and Americans have sometimes paid a heavy price to make those ideals a reality.  Now we are facing a new threat, exemplified by the death of almost three thousand Americans on 9/11.  Bush was right when he said the terrorists hate our freedoms.  To be sure, there is more to it than that, but that is unquestionably a part of it.

This past Saturday was not about grandstanding or chest-thumping.  There were no speeches or political platforms.  There was no hate or promises of vengeance.  There was simply a quiet recognition of our shared pain from a collective tragedy.  And in that recognition, we all came a little closer.  It represented the best of what America stands for, and in that moment I was utterly proud to call myself American.

Also, there are new photos in my Civil War gallery:

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