Historical Markers

When I was a little girl, my father had a predilection for stopping at historical markers on the side of the road. Often. It drove my mother absolutely nuts, and she would sit in the front seat of our beige impala, arms crossed over her chest and sighing about my father's predilection for stopping at historical markers on the side of the road. Most of the time, the markers were next to a grassy field of nothing, and the raised letters would proclaim that this had once been the sight of a historic home, or a Civil War battle, or the site of some long gone town. My brother and I would happily skip behind my dad's lanky legs, happy to be free from the confines of the car, and would hang off of my father's limbs or kick rocks as he read about the historical significance of the site.

To this day, whenever I pass a historical marker, I either supress or give in to the urge to stop and read what the marker proclaims. Yesterday, The Rev. and I were driving through Escondido and he suddenly pulled off the road next to a historical marker. It was in front of Escondido's first schoolhouse, a one room building just off the road. It is now privately owned, and little did we know, but they were having an open house. . . for potential wedding parties. We were both a little embarassed, and we felt awkward at being the only people at this open house. The awkwardness grew to full on uncomfortable when the hostess learned that we were already married, and had been so for nearly eight years. She was polite, and gave us the history of schoolhouse, pointing out the original glass and original ceilings, along with the newly restored school bell. We felt bad for keeping her, but it wasn't like she was busy, and we all managed to excuse ourselves and get on with the rest of our day.

It made for a nice day, and a nice way to remember my dad telling me later on that one should always stop and read the historical markers. You never know what you might learn.