I adore going to the Air and Space museum. I’m usually overwhelmed with wonder by all the space craft because seeing a thing makes it all real and tangible but seeing the Enola Gay was a different kind of overwhelming. Seeing it drives home a true sense of horror for what happened that day and what has been unleashed on the world. But that museum contains more than just artifacts; it contains our cumulative memories and experiences as a country. My last visit was almost two decades ago but I had the most moving experience I’ll probably ever have there. At one point during our tour my husband and I were walking through an exhibit of planes used in the Asia-Pacific theater. We were in this tight little offshoot where there was a single plane in the center of the room and placards along the walls. It was really crowded and noisy but I wanted to read all the placards. As I was reading with my back turned the room almost suddenly got real quiet and thinned out real quick. My husband nudged me to get my attention and as I turned around there was an old man in a wheelchair right in front of the plane. He must have been a veteran because he had his service ball-cap on. Everyone was instinctively giving this man room and a moment of silence as he openly wept while staring at the plane. My husband and I stood there a few moments longer before quietly nodding at his family members in recognition and respect before we too left the room. I’ll never be able to imagine what was going through that man’s mind or what he was re-living in that moment but I’ve been thinking about that experience a lot since last November. I felt respect, empathy, and even a bit of patriotism at the time but lately all I feel is shame that this country has gleefully spit in the face of our veterans and their service today.