Rocks

What is it about little boys and rocks.   I really don't have an answer for that.  Maybe it is the curiosity of the different shapes and sizes.  Maybe, as the craze reminded us 30 or so years ago, that having a "pet rock," was cool, or perhaps it is a special rock you found and want to keep.  Another possibility, for the most part, is they are free.  I guarantee if you go walking down a dirt road or a dry creek bed and pick up a rock that strikes your fancy, no one is going to stop you and ask if you paid for it.

Another thing about rocks.  Many have stories associated with them.  Maybe a rock or piece of brick is all you have left of your grandparent's old home on the farm.  Perhaps your old school or church was torn down, and you wanted a remembrance, a memento if you will, something to hold in your hand that fills you with memories of times past.   All of those are perfectly logical.

But then there are rocks, that are historical.  They were present where history took place.  There are stories associated with these rocks, and that is the road we are traveling today.

My younger son Clayton and his wife Mimi have a cat, no kids, so they are spending a couple weeks over the holidays in Europe.  From their home in the San Francisco, it is a convenient place to get on an airplane and explore the world.  

In the first week or so of their vacation, they have visited Munich, Nuremburg, Prague, Dresden and Berlin, all cities that were instrumental in World War II and immediately after, cities full of stories, cities full of rocks.

A little background, he and Mimi met while they were in the same master's program at the University of Helsinki about 10 years ago. Prior to that, Clayton had also spent time at the University of Strasbourg, in eastern France while an undergrad.  

On one of his many trips to Europe, he was visiting Berlin, seeing the historical sights, and decided to buy his old man a trinket.  Not just any trinket mind you, a piece of the Berlin Wall.

As I type this, I am looking at a small piece of concrete, safely encased in acrylic.  It is about three inches by two inches.  One side is flat.  Orange and purple spray paint are clearly visible along with some very thin white streaks.

Embossed in gold on one side of the acrylic is a statement in German, English and French.  First in German it says, "die Mauer."  Below, in English it simply says, "the wall."  Finally, in French, "le mur."

The next line says Berlin, while the bottom line reads, "13-8-1961 - 9-11-1989."  The dates, using the European way of putting the day before the month, translates Aug. 13, 1961 - Nov. 9, 1989.  The days the Wall was standing, over 28 years.

Clayton and Mimi visited where the wall once stood over the weekend near the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin.  One of the pictures they shared was a segment of the wall that still stands.  Not much of it does anymore, after the East German government opened the border on that Thursday evening in early November of 1989.  Thousands of East and West Germans celebrated together for days, defiantly chipping away pieces of the 96-mile-long wall for souvenirs under the watchful eyes of East German soldiers who did nothing.

As I look at this rock, this small piece of concrete, I wonder what story it would tell.  Where along the border was it.  Did any East Germans try to escape to the West over the top of it?  Was there any blood shed near my piece of the Wall?  Perhaps it was in a quiet neighborhood, only disturbed by the spray painting by teenage kids in West Berlin.  I don't know, but I am confident there is a story there.  Every time I look at it, every time I hold it, I can almost feel it talking to me. 

Rocks can be something we pick up and skip across the water, and rocks can also separate death from life.

Choose life my friends.  Be kind to each other.  See you down the road.