Tag: statues

bookmark_borderRobert E. Lee memorial at Antietam Battlefield

Posted on by Marissa

Beautiful post from Dixie Forever about the Robert E. Lee statue at Antietam Battlefield:

You can also view the post here on Facebook.

This post really brings home for me the gravity of the horrible things that have happened, and continue to happen, in our country. The images of this statue are so beautiful, but are also a punch in the gut for me. Sadly, as the post states, this is currently one of the most threatened monuments in America. It’s despicable and sickening that this is the case. How anyone could think that the battlefield would be made better by removing this beautiful statue (beautiful both aesthetically and in terms of what it represents) is incomprehensible. If the bullies, whose goal is to inflict the maximum amount of pain possible on people who are different from them, get their way then I hope at least the statue will be returned to private land as it was before 2005, when the National Park Service took ownership of it. 

bookmark_borderDavid Trone believes that people like me shouldn’t be allowed to exist

Posted on by Marissa

Horrific, agonizing pain. My limbs feel like lead, my stomach feels sick, my lungs feel like they’re filled with rocks. I am crushed beneath an avalanche of grief, sadness, and anger. The agony is like a knife that stabs me in the heart. The entire world is dark, horrifying, disgusting. It feels as if my soul is being eviscerated, as if I will never experience happiness again. 

This is something I’ve experienced hundreds of times over the past four years. 

In this most recent instance, this pain was directly caused by Rep. David Trone, who despicably sponsored a bill * – known as HR 7474, the Robert E. Lee Monument Removal Act – which would turn the Antietam (Sharpsburg) Battlefield into yet another thing whose entire purpose is to send the message that people like me shouldn’t be allowed to exist. Yet another place in which I am not welcome, yet another area of society in which I cannot participate, yet another part of our physical world that would be altered in order to ensure that I cannot feel represented or included. 

Despicably, Trone said of his act of vicious cruelty and aggression: “I thank my colleagues for joining me in this effort to ensure Antietam honors our nation’s victory over the Confederacy rather than memorializes historical figures who fought to break up the Union and restrict fundamental human rights.”

As if forcing people to remain part of the same country against their will somehow doesn’t restrict fundamental human rights. As if inflicting on another human the type of pain that I described in the first paragraph of this blog post somehow doesn’t restrict fundamental human rights. As if decreeing that only one side in a war deserves to be honored, only one perspective acknowledged, only one story told, only one viewpoint reflected, somehow doesn’t restrict fundamental human rights. 

To “ensure Antietam honors our nation’s victory over the Confederacy” completely defeats the purpose of even preserving the battlefield as a historical site, both because the entire concept of a battle requires that there be two opposing sides, and also because there is no benefit in something existing when the very attribute that made it beautiful, distinctive, and remarkable has been destroyed. 

David Trone would like Antietam to be transformed from a historical site honoring a battle and the soldiers who fought there, into yet another monument to authoritarianism, compliance, and mindless conformity, into yet another piece of propaganda designed to send the message that any person who differs from the mainstream, from the norm, from the majority in any way, has no right to exist. 

As if sending this message somehow doesn’t restrict fundamental human rights.

David Trone’s decision to introduce this bill is an attack on me as a human being. It is an attack on me because I am different, because I do not fit in, because I see the world differently from most people, because I have different interests and passions and values and ways of thinking than the majority. Because I am different, the Robert E. Lee Monument represents me. It makes me feel included. It makes me feel that people like me are allowed to exist. By attempting to remove it, David Trone is attempting to turn the Antietam Battlefield into yet another instrument in society’s war against people like me. Yet another thing that used to make me feel represented and included, now turned into a cudgel to beat me with. Yet another tool for society to use to hammer home the brutal and intolerant message that I do not deserve to exist because I am different. 

Tell me again, why does America need another monument to authoritarianism, compliance, and mindless conformity? Why does America need yet another memorial honoring the same bland, mundane, and meaningless values that people are already bombarded with every day, in every facet of life? 

Tell me again, what is the point of the Antietam battlefield even existing, if its existence does nothing other than to stab my heart, punch me in the gut, stomp on my face, and inflict horrific and agonizing pain?

Pardon my French, but fuck David Trone. He doesn’t care a whit about fundamental human rights. If he did, he would campaign passionately against vaccine mandates, gun control, the Durham-Humphrey Amendment, and the use of full-body scanners at airports, to give just a few examples. Each of these policies restrict fundamental human rights vastly more severely than anyone from the Confederacy ever did.

How dare David Trone pontificate about fundamental human rights while simultaneously going out of his way to violate them?

How dare he go about his life as if nothing is wrong, while his actions inflict horrific and agonizing pain on other people?

It is mentally exhausting and demoralizing that acts of vicious cruelty and aggression, such as this one perpetrated by David Trone and his 6 co-sponsors, continue to happen. I am tired, I am angry, and I am exhausted. I don’t deserve for this pain to be inflicted on me, and David Trone has no right to inflict it. Despicably, he pontificates about “fundamental human rights” while actively violating mine. 

I learned from a quick Google search that David Trone has a wife and several children. How would he like it if his wife and children were beaten, strangled, dismembered, burned, and had their limbs sawed off and their bodies cut to pieces as he was forced to watch? That might sound sadistic, outlandish, excessive, ridiculous… but it has been my reality for the past four years. Perhaps if this happened, David Trone would experience a tiny fraction of the pain that I’ve experienced. Maybe then he’d have a shred of empathy for the people he’s harmed. Maybe then he’d work towards enacting policies that would compensate me for the pain I’ve suffered, rather than actively inflicting even more of it.

* as well as 6 other members of Congress who co-sponsored this bill

bookmark_borderNo, Tolstoy was not saying that making statues is wrong

Posted on by Marissa

Take a look at this great post, with a very true and meaningful quote, and then the obnoxious comment below it:

Um, what? He was talking about you? Really?

First of all, we are not the majority. People like those at Monuments Across Dixie and myself are the minority, as evidenced by the fact that our statues and monuments have been subjected to an almost entirely unopposed and unchallenged campaign of brutal and violent destruction across the entire country.

Second of all, Tolstoy was talking about people who design and commission statues? Really? Tolstoy was saying that making statues is wrong, even though the majority shares in it? Somehow, I doubt that very much.

What an infuriating and idiotic comment. Continuing to see people expressing sentiments such as these is exasperating and mentally exhausting.

Good for Monuments Across Dixie for posting this Tolstoy quote. Contrary to what Richard Binns claims, this quote is much more applicable to the brave minority fighting to defend what makes life worth living (Confederate statues), than it is to the cowardly majority who are cruelly destroying it.

bookmark_borderThe statues weren’t hurting anyone, and neither was I

Posted on by Marissa

Everyone else wore jeans and t-shirts. I wore jumpers, plaid skirts, cardigans, Mary Janes.

Everyone else got their hair highlighted and wore makeup. I wore hair ribbons and pigtails.

Everyone else spoke in the latest slang in order to sound “cool.” I used big words and spoke formally.

Everyone else IM’d with their friends after school. I went online to read about historical figures. I made drawings and paper dolls of them.

Everyone played the same computer games, listened to the same music, watched the same TV shows and movies. Everyone except for me.

I collected dolls, toy soldiers, Beanie Babies, and model horses. Everyone called me babyish and weird.

I picked my nose, and the other kids whispered to each other about how gross I was. I picked at my face and scalp instead, but the other kids still whispered to each other about me, and how weird I was. So instead I went through my hair and took out the strands that had become detached, tidying and cleaning up my hair, but the other kids commented on how gross and weird that was as well. So I forced myself to sit, uncomfortable and bored out of my mind, with nothing to occupy my hands.

I was not hurting anyone. I was not hurting anyone by dressing the way that looked good to me, moving and organizing my body in the way that felt good to me, spending my time and energy pursuing the things that I was interested in. I was not hurting anyone by existing in the world as my authentic self, in a way that was different from other people.

The statues are the same as me. They dressed differently from people today, looked differently, spoke differently, thought differently.

Therefore, the statues weren’t hurting anyone either.

The statues symbolized people like me, people who are different. The statues symbolized the idea that people like me have a right to be included in society. When people tore down the statues, that is what they attacked.

Seeing those statues standing, in public parks and city squares, told me that I had the right to exist, even though I am different from others. Because those statues were different from other people, and they had the right to exist.

When people tore down the statues, they took that away from me.

When mayors and city councils ordered the statues removed, they were literally redesigning public spaces in order to communicate that people like me do not have the right to exist there, in order to ensure that people like me would feel excluded.

This is not being inclusive, or ensuring that everyone feels welcome. It is the exact opposite.

When people tore down the statues, they did so because they believe that a person who dresses differently, looks differently, moves differently, speaks differently, and thinks differently should not be allowed to exist.

When people tore down the statues, they did so because they believe, through some perverse logic that is incomprehensible to me, that their right to be surrounded entirely and exclusively by people who dress like them, look like them, move like them, speak like them, and think like them, outweighs my right to exist.

This is not diversity. It is the exact opposite.

This is why Confederate statues and Christopher Columbus statues are so important.

This is why the issue of statues is personal to me.

This is why I will never forget what people did to the statues, why I will never move on, why I will never stop writing and posting about the statues, why I will never focus on other, more important issues.

Because there are no issues more important than this.

I wasn’t hurting anyone by existing, and neither were the statues.

bookmark_borderPhotos and videos from Lee-Jackson Day

Posted on by Marissa

This past weekend was Lee-Jackson Day, the holiday honoring Generals Robert E. Lee and Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson!

One day, I would love to go to the celebrations in Lexington, Virginia honoring these two amazing heroes. But because I live too far away for that to be practical, I enjoyed looking at the photos and videos on social media. The celebration of Lee-Jackson Day confirms to me that there are still some people who believe in honoring heroes and doing what is right.

I also thought this would be a good time to introduce my new project: The Historical Heroes Blog.

There, you can check out photos and videos from the ceremony at Stonewall Jackson Cemetery, parade, and flag ceremony at Lee-Jackson Park, to give just a few examples.

This new blog will be dedicated to sharing content that I find around the internet about my favorite historical figures – art, quotes, statues, birthdays, holidays, events, news, and more. Unlike the content on this blog, the content on the new blog will focus solely on the positive. Given the horrific events of the past few years, positivity is a concept that often seems elusive. For the first two years of the statue genocide, it was almost entirely absent. But gradually, I have become able, through various avenues, to find small glimmers of hope that make me smile. Not by moving on from the historical figures whom I love, but by celebrating them and honoring them and incorporating them into my life as much as I can. (I wrote more about this concept in my post about Christmas and New Year’s). It is the desire to collect these glimmers of hope, of beauty, of goodness, that gave rise to the creation of the new blog. In the darkest days of the statue genocide, the idea of creating such a blog didn’t occur to me, because I assumed it would be impossible to find suitable content for one. Everything relating to historical figures was dark, sickening, horrifying, and negative. But the idea for the new blog began to take shape in my mind last year, and shortly after the new year I finally launched it. I am hopeful that the new blog will be a place for hope, beauty, and goodness, and a place to celebrate and honor historical figures, for years to come.

I will continue this blog as well, as a place to share my opinions, thoughts, and experiences about the things going on in the world. Over the years, this blog has undergone many transformations. At first, I pretty much stuck to sharing my opinions about current events, with a little bit of sports stuff and a little bit of history stuff thrown in. When I became interested in watching high-profile trials, my first-hand reports from the trials that I attended became the primary focus of the blog. Then the blog went relatively dormant for a while, when I lacked the time, energy, and inspiration to update it. Over the past few years, the horrible things happening to historical figures affected me so deeply that my writings became centered around this subject and the personal impact that it had on me. Recently, I’ve spent more time thinking about my identity as a person on the autism spectrum and how this is intertwined with the statues. I feel that my autism, my imaginary world, and my love of historical figures are strongly connected. Given that the majority of autistic voices seem to express political beliefs that are the opposite of mine, I feel that I have a perspective that is unique and different and therefore important to share. In the future, I plan to write more about my personal experiences with autism and mental health, as well as statues, historical figures, individual rights, and anything else that I have a strong opinion on.

As always, thank you for reading.

bookmark_borderRemoving statues is the opposite of being welcoming and inclusive

Posted on by Marissa

I was sitting and drinking coffee when I learned something that made my brain explode. Just a second earlier, I had been talking with my parents about a mini snowman that someone had made on top of a mailbox, which I had spotted during my walk and found really cute and funny. But now their innocuous questions – Do you know who made it? Did you post the picture on Instagram? – made my brain physically hurt. Filled to capacity by the horrific news, it simply could not accept any more input.

I covered my ears. I could not process, let alone answer, the simple questions. The sounds of silverware and plates clattering at nearby tables were like bombs exploding in my cranium. A group of people walked behind me; to my tortured brain their chatter sounded like shrill screaming.

“What was this horrible news?” you might be wondering.

Good question.

The answer: the fact that the National Park Service reportedly planned to remove a statue of William Penn from Independence National Historic Park in Philadelphia, the historic site dedicated to the Declaration of Independence. The obliteration of Penn as a historical figure was planned in order, in the NPS’s words, to make the park more “welcoming” and “inclusive” (source here).

Nothing could be further from the truth.

I like historical figures. I like historical figures because I have been bullied and excluded all my life. I have never fit in with the people around me, and I have never been able to relate to them. I only relate to historical figures. By removing historical figures from public spaces, our society is ensuring that I cannot feel welcome or included in those spaces. This makes those spaces less, not more, welcoming and inclusive.

All of the people who wear the latest fashions, speak using the latest slang, listen to the latest music, watch the latest shows, and spend their time texting and face timing with their friends… they don’t need to feel more welcomed or included. They’ve felt welcome and included their entire lives, because they are the majority. It’s people like me, who wore plaid dresses and skirts, did their hair in pigtails, collected dolls and toy soldiers, listened to show tunes and Disney music, and spent their time making paper dolls and reading about historical figures… it’s people like me who have faced a lifetime of exclusion because of how we dress, how we talk, what we like, and how we spend our time. It’s people like me who need, and deserve, to feel more welcomed and included.

But instead, our society has decided to make people like me feel less welcomed and included. Removing statues, removing the names of historical figures from buildings and streets, replacing Columbus Day with Indigenous Peoples’ Day… these actions create a less, not more, welcoming and inclusive world. After spending a lifetime feeling excluded at school, in extracurricular activities, online, and in social groups, I have now, for the past three and a half years, been forced to witness the public spaces of our country being reconfigured using cranes and work crews to ensure that I feel excluded there, too.

Historical figures are me. Historical figures are the only people I can relate to. By eliminating them from public spaces, our society has also eliminated any possibility for me to exist in those spaces without being filled with grief, anger, and pain. Society has actively transformed public space to ensure that people like me do not feel welcomed or included there.

So, no. Removing a statue of William Penn does not make a park more welcoming or inclusive. It does the opposite.

And then there is the obvious fact that removing something is, by its very nature, the opposite of being inclusive. Think about it: removing something from a space necessarily means that fewer things are now being included in that space. Removing a statue necessarily means that fewer historical figures are now being depicted, fewer stories being told, fewer perspectives being represented. That’s the antithesis of being inclusive.

As a commenter on the post linked above astutely wrote, “Not inclusive of white people… If they want ‘inclusive’ history why not just add it?”

Exactly.

I began this blog post by describing my experience in the coffee shop in order to demonstrate that the National Park Service, by coming up with the plan to remove the William Penn statue, actively inflicted harm on me as an autistic person. The NPS’s actions directly caused me emotional distress and directly caused my brain to explode in agonizing pain. Yet another way in which the NPS’s decision is the opposite of being welcoming and inclusive.

There is, however, a nugget of good news in this story. According to more recent reports (see comments section of source linked above) the NPS has changed their mind and now does not intend to do anything to the statue of William Penn. Fingers crossed that this is correct.

bookmark_borderReflections on the past few years…

Posted on by Marissa

As the year 2024 begins, I am going to get a bit introspective and take a look back on the past few years…

2020 was, frankly, the worst year of my life. I didn’t share the extent of my struggles at the time, but the events going on in the world – the Covid pandemic and the policies implemented in response to it, the 2020 election, and the protests that resulted in statues being removed and torn down – really negatively impacted my mental health. Particularly the statues. For reasons that are difficult to explain, I couldn’t stop thinking about them. I was extraordinarily angry and sad about what had happened, and it affected work, friendships, hobbies, and every area of my life. No one understood why I felt so strongly about metal and stone sculptures. I felt alone, I felt unheard, and I felt powerless to change anything.

2021 was a difficult year as well. The horrible things happening to the statues continued, as did the pandemic and the authoritarian actions taken in response to it. Feeling that I needed a major change in my life, I left my job and started a completely different one, which came with mixed emotions. I did experience some glimmers of hope, however: I connected with fellow Italian Americans who share my love of Christopher Columbus, and while scrolling through social media, I discovered an opportunity to put up my very own statue.

2022 was a year of ups and downs. I struggled with finding the time and energy to do the things I wanted to do, as well as with striking the right balance between speaking out about my beliefs but not wanting to be so controversial that I would lose friends and opportunities. Overall this was a year in which I became more active in expressing my views, honoring the historical figures who are so important to me, and trying to make a difference. I began sharing my artwork publicly and selling it at local fairs and festivals. Most importantly, Stonewall Jackson came into existence and came to live in my yard, which I consider to be the most significant accomplishment in my life.

In 2023, I continued to make progress on my journey of healing and finding my place in the world as an authentic person. Stonewall Jackson was by my side, experiencing all the seasons of Massachusetts and celebrating all of the holidays with me. Additionally, Christopher Columbus got his head re-attached to his body and returned to view, although not in the way that would have been ideal. Many people don’t understand why someone with a degree from Harvard would want to work at a grocery store. Many people don’t understand why someone would care so much about statues and be affected so strongly by what happens to them. My way of seeing the world is different from most people’s, and that is OK.

In 2024, I hope to continue expressing myself through drawing and writing, and I hope to incorporate the historical figures that I love into my life as much as possible.

Cheers to 2024!

bookmark_borderJoy amidst darkness

Posted on by Marissa

This holiday season has been one of contradictions. Darkness and light, hope and despair, joy and pain.

A few days before Christmas, the bullies whose goal is to eliminate from the world everything that makes life worth living struck again, inflicting horrific and agonizing pain. Like so many other places and things in the United States, Arlington National Cemetery has been transformed into something sickening, disgusting, and horrific. It has become yet another symbol of me being rejected, excluded, and hurt, yet another reminder of the atrocities that have taken place, yet another trigger of grief and rage so strong that I feel sick to my stomach at the mere mention of its name. Arlington has been transformed by bigotry and intolerance, from a cemetery honoring the dead into a shrine to sameness, compliance, and conformity. Where a cemetery is supposed to be, there is now nothing but a hideous scar in the world. Arlington is yet another place that has been physically transformed, using cranes and work crews at taxpayer expense, to ensure that people like me do not feel welcome there. To ensure that autistic people, rebels, people who think differently, people who are different from the norm in any way, will feel rejected and excluded. The fact that anyone would think that this is a good thing to do is incomprehensible and unimaginable.

And just a couple of days after Christmas, on December 27, the bullies inflicted horrific and agonizing pain yet again, this time in Jacksonville, Florida. At the orders of the bully who was elected mayor, Donna Deegan, a monument honoring the women of the Confederacy was obliterated from a city park, a park which, by the way, had been known as Confederate Park, but of course Deegan ordered that name to be obliterated too. Because God forbid that anyone who is different from the majority in any way be allowed to exist. God forbid that anyone unique or different be honored in any way. Only people like Donna Deegan matter, apparently, and no one else. No one else’s feelings or perspectives matter. Only hers.

Just like the kids who bullied me when I was growing up, the kids who wore makeup, highlighted their hair, spoke using the latest slang, dressed in the latest fashions, listened to whatever music was popular at the time, watched whatever TV shows were considered “cool,” and IM’d with their friends after school instead of reading about and drawing historical figures. They are the only people who matter, apparently, and no one else. No one cares about my feelings or my perspective. No one cares about my right to exist. They only care about themselves and the people who look like them, talk like them, act like them, and think like them. In their eyes, no one else matters.

The atrocity, which cost $187,000, was funded by a grant from an organization called the Jessie Ball duPont Fund (source here). Which means that yes, people actually donated money to inflict horrific and agonizing pain on other people. People actually donated money for the purpose of destroying everything that makes life worth living. The fact that someone would donate money to such a cause is incomprehensible, unimaginable, and utterly sickening.

Statues and monuments were the only thing in our society that actually reflected my perspective and my values, that actually made me feel represented and included. So of course, they had to go. Of course, they had to be destroyed. Of course, it was deemed unacceptable for me to feel even the tiniest bit represented or included. Apparently, it wasn’t enough for the makeup-wearing, IM-ing, mindless conformists to control the media, the economy, pop culture, fashion, technology, etiquette, and social norms. They also had to take away the one thing that actually reflected my values and not theirs, the one thing that was beautiful to me, the one thing that made my life worth living. They had to turn statues and monuments into yet another thing representing their own values, yet another thing to make me feel condemned, rejected, and excluded, yet another cudgel to beat me with.

Society decided that because I am different from the majority, I deserve the death penalty.

That is what the Biden administration’s Department of Defense did at Arlington National Cemetery.

And that is what Donna Deegan did in Jacksonville, Florida.

Anyway, I digress.

Suffice it to say that each time a new atrocity occurs, I am assaulted by pain so horrific and agonizing that it cannot be described in words. Each new atrocity brings with it the pain of all the previous ones, and I am buried beneath the avalanche of atrocities. I am crushed by the weight of the pile, as if I will never be able to dig my way out. I feel as if I’ve been swept away by a tidal wave, lost in a vast sea of atrocities, directionless, as if I will never find my way back to shore.

It is difficult to see any purpose in celebrating the holidays given the vast and ever-growing mountain of atrocities. Putting up a Christmas tree, looking at beautiful lights, playing Christmas music, baking, buying festive foods, all these activities seem insensitive, superficial, tone-deaf. When the tidal wave of atrocities attacks, I hate the entire society. Because this society, as a whole, allowed the atrocities to happen. This society has decided that the destruction of everything that makes my life worth living is somehow an acceptable outcome, that there is no need to stop it, to reverse it, to condemn it, or to do anything about it. And because every person, every organization, and every company are part of the society, every possible way of celebrating the holidays is to some extent “contaminated.” When the pain is at its strongest, and my mood at its darkest, it seems that to celebrate the holidays would be to condone the atrocities.

Yet I decided to try, anyway.

Not because I condone the atrocities. Not because I wish to “move on,” or take my mind off of what happened, or dedicate my time and energy to something else, or find a new thing to be interested in.

But rather because I believe that I am a good person, and that I deserve to have joy in my life. I believe that the historical figures would want me to feel joy. Without joy, it would be impossible to summon the will to keep fighting. Just as the Confederate soldiers found ways to celebrate Christmas as best as they could, despite being exhausted and starving, missing their homes, shivering in their threadbare uniforms, suffering from illnesses and injuries, and traumatized from horrific battles, I celebrated as best as I could.

Of course, I wish to eventually heal from the horrific and agonizing pain that has been inflicted. (No person wants to experience horrific and agonizing pain.) And I believe that over the past couple of years, I have made slow and halting progress in doing so. But the healing does not consist of “moving on,” and it certainly does not consist of forgiving the perpetrators. Rather, healing consists of centering my life around the historical figures, doing whatever I can to honor them and keep them alive, incorporating them into everything that I do, and finding joy in them.

Over the course of the holiday season, my soul vacillated between these two states: being engulfed by horror and despair on the one hand, and experiencing rays of hope, joy, and even excitement on the other.

I tried to spend my holiday season doing things that I truly wanted, as opposed to things that I felt obligated to do. Some of these activities didn’t have anything to do with historical figures, but most did. Historical figures are the thing that I love more than anything else in the world, after all, and so it makes sense that most of the things that bring me joy would include them. So, after this long and rambling introduction, here are a few of the things that I did to celebrate during the holiday season:

Buying and setting up a Christmas tree and decorating it with ornaments honoring some of my favorite historical figures.






Putting up Christmas lights on the front of my house…

And in the back of my house, where Stonewall Jackson lives.

Sending out Christmas cards

Buying some festive foods from Trader Joe’s

Visiting the Christmas tree at the pond near my house…

… and the World War I memorial, which was decorated for Christmas.

Checking out the Christmas lights at Assembly Row, the area where I work…

… and going to an ice sculpture walk, also at Assembly Row.

Looking at Christmas decorations in Boston, paying a visit to Christopher Columbus, and giving him a little gift.

Eating Chinese food

Visiting a house with amazing Christmas lights

Making cinnamon bun pancakes

Making photo calendars to give as Christmas gifts (including, of course, a couple of my favorite statues)

Asking for toy soldiers as Christmas gifts…

… and receiving several other gifts as well, such as Confederate coffee, a Christopher Columbus teacup, and a necklace with a locket containing pictures of historical figures inside!

Finally, I spent Christmas night sitting on my couch, writing while watching a football game. The lights of my Christmas tree, with historical figure ornaments hanging from its branches, twinkled softly in the background, and the calming pine scent filled the living room. Although sports are something that can go either way for me regarding being “contaminated” by the statue genocide, I really enjoyed watching the game, particularly the interviews and the festive montages that played during it. Spending Christmas night with only my historical figures for company might strike some people as sad or pathetic, but for me, it brought a sense of peace and Christmas spirit that was exactly what I needed.

Here’s to more joy, more peace, and more historical figures in 2024.

bookmark_borderA Christmas gift for Christopher Columbus

Posted on by Marissa

It was December 23, and the North End of Boston was filled with Christmas cheer. Lights twinkled on the trees, and the cafes and restaurants were adorned with wreaths and garlands. 

People hustled and bustled through the narrow streets and lined up outside Modern Pastry and Neptune Oyster in search of goodies for their Christmas feasts. Car horns honked impatiently. Tourists chattered excitedly in various languages and stopped to snap pictures. 

The only person seemingly left out of the festivities was Christopher Columbus. A narrow alley off of bustling Salem Street, deserted except for a few parked cars and an abandoned mattress, led to his home in the parking lot of the Knights of Columbus headquarters. As always, he stood solemnly atop his modest pedestal, isolated behind a tall fence. 

Merry Christmas, Chris. How have you been? Everything is so cheerful out there, with the lights, and the decorations, and everyone buying food and presents. And you are here all by yourself. Nobody seems to care about you out there, but I do. You have no decorations, and no presents, and no family, and no one coming to visit you. But I’m here to visit you. I didn’t forget. 

I stood for a few moments with my friend Chris, separated from him by the fence.

And then I noticed that the gate behind him, on the other side of the parking lot, was open. 

And an idea came into my mind.

Perhaps Chris could receive a gift after all. 

I didn’t know for how much longer the gate would be open, so I had to hurry. I turned back onto Salem Street and, turning my head to the left and to the right, began scanning the storefronts for one that might sell suitable gifts for a marble statue. I remembered passing by a CVS earlier, shortly after getting off of the train. So, battling through the crowds, I retraced my steps. Once inside the cramped drug store, I found myself surrounded by an overwhelming assortment of candy, stockings, toys, and holiday decorations. What would Chrisopher Columbus like? I asked myself as shoppers flowed around me, checking out the merchandise, and the automatic doors noisily clanged open and closed. A statue cannot eat, so candy was out. The toys all seemed too juvenile and silly for a great admiral. I noticed a table filled with bouquets of flowers, which were beautiful but very expensive, and likely too big to rest securely atop Chris’s small pedestal. And then I noticed that next to the flowers were some small plants, with beautiful white flowers, that cost only $7. 

The perfect gift for Chris!

I paid for a plant and, praying that the gate hadn’t closed, carried it carefully through the busy streets. 

To my tremendous relief, the gate was open, allowing me to stroll into the parking lot and present the admiral with his gift. A sign sternly warned me that trespassing is forbidden and that violators will be prosecuted, but I ignored it, figuring that no one would mind, because after all, I was there to give the statue a gift, not to harm him. I gently placed the little plant between his marble feet. 

Merry Christmas, my friend. I brought you a gift after all. I hope you like it. 

I took a few photos of him with his gift, patted his foot, and bid him farewell. 

See you later, Chris. It’s been wonderful to see you, as always. Until next time…