My wife Kathy and I spent the
Thanksgiving holiday with family in Nashville, Tennessee. Kathy grew up just south in the historic town
of Franklin, Tennessee. Together, we
have visited most of the Civil War battlefields in the area as well as many of
the historic homes and museums, yet we never visited The Hermitage, the home of
our seventh President, Andrew Jackson. I had been visiting the area for over 30 years
and I never took the time to see this unique property. I was bound and determined to do so on this
trip. We arranged to take with us our 15-year-old
middle granddaughter Shelby, who lives in Nashville. What a treat the day was going to be.
I should say I am the history
geek and my wife knows that I must read every sign, see every film and gaze on
every relic in the historic places we visit. I did not disappoint her this time as well. In the museum at the start of the tour I
read everything. Yes, I’m that guy in
your family. Helping to enjoy our time together
was seeing everything through the eyes of Shelby. We next toured the grounds and waited our turn to tour the historic home which we were told has ninety-five percent of its original furnishing and looks much the way it did when Jackson lived in the home. The grandeur and practicality of the home as well as the plantation was amazing to experience. The tomb of Jackson and his beloved wife Rachel are in the formal gardens. The slave cabin exhibits tell the story of those who lived and toiled to make this place work which were riveting reminders of why we need to continue to learn from their story and strife.
An additional benefit of visiting on this day was noticing people from around the world. How did I know this? Listening to the various languages being spoken and the style of their dress, confirmed this observation on a balmy autumn day. Shelby seemed to be enjoying her time with us yet she had been to The Hermitage before so my wife thought she was just not as interested in being there as we were. Yet, we were soon to find out otherwise.
Walking around the grounds my wife posed the following question to me, “When did Jackson die?” Shelby piped up with the answer,” June 8, 1845,” she replied. My wife and I both laughed and realized not only was Shelby paying attention, she was taking in and remembering what she had experienced. I learned an interesting lesson that day. How one observes the world may not be the same as you. They may not appear to be paying attention, yet they really are processing what they experience. It just may be differently from you.
Moral: We all observe and learn
differently. We just have to be OK with it.
