When the Wall Came Down

by Amelia M.

“We welcome change and openness; for we believe that freedom and security go together, that the advance of human liberty can only strengthen the cause of world peace. There is one sign the Soviets can make that would be unmistakable, that would advance dramatically the cause of freedom and peace. General Secretary Gorbachev, if you seek peace, if you seek prosperity for the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, if you seek liberalization: Come here to this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, open this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!”

These words, “tear down this wall,” ring in my head, and all of a sudden something clicks, and I am now oblivious to the world around me.

Two days earlier:

“Shhh, I hear one,” my dad says. We live together alone in southern Virginia, in a small town by the name of Floyd. The population here is three hundred ninety-eight, there are two Democrats in the whole place, everybody here hunts… everything. And everyone is always there for one another. This is the kinda place where your parents were almost definitely high school sweethearts, a place that holds a county fair every fall, and a place where a man’s word means far more than any kind of contract ever will. Some people hate it here, but they just don’t know how to appreciate true country. I do. I am proud to be country.

We’re in the woods that surround my humble little residence. It’s painted a faded white with a red trim. My mom chose the colors, and my dad could never find the heart to tell her how much he hated it, or that the crisp white would soon turn into a dark brown dusted-like color from the long dirt road that leads to our home. I’ve always known that he didn’t like the colors, though, because I didn’t either. Ever since my mom died, however, my dad has come to like it. He won’t even put a fresh coat of white on top of the dusty old color; I think it reminds him of her, and allows him a small smile when he sees it.

“This one’s yours, Ray,” my dad whispers as he gestures to his lifelong friend, Ray. Ray nods, and then pours his focus into what seems to be the only three things that matter: his bow, his arrow, and the huge eleven point brown buck standing a mere three hundred feet away from him. I hear the stealthy sound of his arrow whizzing through the woods, but it flies just a hair past the deer’s neck, and keeps going, until it lands on the leafy floor of the woods some hundred feet back. My jaw drops to the ground. Ray never misses. “What was that crap?!” my dad asks with a mocking tone.

“Yeah Ray, I could’ve hit that one!” I chime in. Something must be wrong.

“Oh shut up,” Ray dejectedly states. “I’ve had a lot on my mind. You know, Ruth has put her foot down and is holding it firm. She got an offer for a full time job, and she is taking it. The nerve she has. I can’t help but think about my poor grandchildren. Who’s gonna cook dinner for them? Who’s gonna help them do their homework? Who’s gonna wash their clothes?”

“And what kind of example is she setting for your granddaughters?” I hear Dad add.

“Exactly.”

“Well, you’d better hope that she hasn’t forgotten how to cook yet, ‘cause we ain't got nothing to eat for dinner now that you let that buck get away!” my dad jokes, and I let out a little chuckle. The guys keep talking, but my mind is occupied thinking about what Ray said. I am once again confused. It’s not anything unfamiliar to me, for this is often the cause of debates that take place in my mind. I don’t know what to think, for I have been raised to grow up to be strong, well rounded, and smart, but I am a woman. It’s a strange thing, the way I've been raised. I guess because my mom died when I was so young, and my dad never had a son, he raised me the only way he knew, as if I were a boy: his pride and joy. So he taught me how play catch, fish, hunt, everything a man teaches his son, but when it comes to cooking and cleaning... I guess we get by. So there is my dilemma. I have been raised to do everything a man does, when I am a woman, but I have also been raised around the idea that women grow up to do the cooking and cleaning and take care of the children: things I have little to no experience with.

It’s even harder for me, because Dad and I are so close, for we tell each other everything. When it comes to this, though, I can never talk to him about it. I try, every once in a while, but it always ends with him making some sort of discouraging comment that gives me no guidance, and then continuing to end the conversation in one way or another. I don’t know who else to talk to. Everyone else within a ten mile radius agrees with him, and everyone else outside of that radius is a stranger to me. It is as if a huge wall has gone up between me and everyone I know. I don’t know if I should destroy it or cope with it, and if I were to destroy it, how would I even begin to do that?    

Tonight Dad and I eat our ‘TV dinners’ on the rocking chairs on our porch. Finally I work up enough courage to bring up a topic that I’ve been holding back telling him about. “Daddy, I have some news that I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“Well,” I take a deep breath, “I’ve been doing some thinking, and I've decided that I am going to run for student body president.” The first emotion that I see his face mold into is surprise, but then it transforms into his thinking face. I know why he is surprised, though; girls never run for student body president, let alone win. I know where my dad usually stands on issues like this, which is precisely the reason that I have been nervous to tell him, but I have some optimism that this time could be different. He takes his time answering, but finally he speaks again. “Is that so? And what makes you think you have a chance at winning?” he harshly responds.

I guess I was wrong. Taken aback, I collect my thoughts, and respond firmly, “The fact that I have an impeccable  platform, I’m very persuasive, and, if you haven't noticed, I’m quite the people person.”

His response is flat and cold like the crisp air surrounding us. “I just don’t think it’d be worth your while.” He then proceeds to stand up and go inside, leaving me to nothing but the sound of his rocking chair swaying back and forth against the wooden floor. Eventually the rocking stops, and I am forced to listen to my thoughts, for there is no other sound to hear.

Before I crawl into bed, I crouch down on my knees, with my hands on my mattress, and say my nightly prayers, but this time I spend a little extra time asking God for some clarity regarding my decision to run or not. Sometimes, I wonder what kind of advice my mom would give me in situations like this, so I say a little prayer to her, too. I take a deep breath as I tuck myself into bed. I feel a little better. A small, but big enough weight has been lifted.

“Beee-” is the noise my alarm clock almost makes as it changes from 6:42 to 6:43, but I hit the button before it has a chance to make much of a sound. I am already awake. I get dressed, wash up, and head to the kitchen for breakfast. “Morning. How’d you sleep?” my dad asks as usual.

“Fine,” I lied. I didn’t sleep a wink last night. All I could think about was how Dad reacted when I told him that I wanted to run, and about what Jack said regarding his daughter. Is that what my dad thinks, too? Does he think that I should grow up to be something that I’m not? Something that I know nothing about? I don't know how to make some big fancy home cooked meal! I know how to gut a deer.

I finish my last bite of Smurf-berry Crunch, and put the bowl to my lips, so I can drink the remaining milk; it’s the best part. My dad does the same as I gather my backpack and head outside. I toss my backpack into the bed of Dad’s Ford Ranchero, and slide into the driver’s seat. When my dad meets me in the truck, it’s silently understood that I will be driving us to school today, for I got to the steering wheel first. The four and a half minute drive to Floyd County High School is spent in silence, and once again, I am forced to listen to my thoughts. It wouldn't be so bad, if they weren't just the same old arguments back and forth. I should run, I can do it, for I am smart, strong, and capable, but maybe Daddy’s right, for no girl has ever run before, it isn't worth my time, well I could be the first! And so on and so forth, but neither side ever wins. It’s as if I have a devil and an angel on each of my shoulders, like in the old Loony Tunes, and for once, I almost think I should listen to the devil.

School was nice, because out of the whole day, I only had to hear myself think a few times, for there was plenty of noise to keep me occupied, even at my track practice. But now I have reached the bitter end of my school day, and the walk home is painfully silent. I must make my decision tonight. My principal has requested that the candidates let him know by tomorrow.

That night, Daddy and I sit inside for dinner. Tonight, President Ronald Reagan is giving a speech to General Secretary Gorbachev. I love listening to President Reagan. It’s a long speech, but it’s keeping me occupied enough to be able to procrastinate a bit more about my decision. I can tell that the speech is coming to a close, and that Reagan is about to say something big, I can hear it in his voice.

And then it comes.

“We welcome change and openness; for we believe that freedom and security go together, that the advance of human liberty can only strengthen the cause of world peace. There is one sign the Soviets can make that would be unmistakable, that would advance dramatically the cause of freedom and peace. General Secretary Gorbachev, if you seek peace, if you seek prosperity for the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, if you seek liberalization: Come here to this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, open this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!”

These words, “tear down this wall,” ring in my head, and all of a sudden something clicks, and I am now oblivious to the world around me. It is at this moment that the towering wall inside of me comes crashing down. It is at this moment that I realize that the devil is really the angel. And it is at this moment that I hear something beautiful, which has for a long time been ugly: I hear a beautiful silence, and never again do I have that same debate with myself, for I always know the answer.

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