SMS trip to Washington, D.C., brings 'real history' to life
The annual eighth-grade trip to Washington, D.C., and New York City has been a tradition at Sandpoint Middle School for as many years as most people can remember.
It’s simple. Block off the week of spring break. Encourage your friends to go with you. Raise $2,000. Spend the week after the trip recovering.
The biggest hurdle is the money.
The D.C. Trip, as it has been called in our household for several years, has been on Austin’s radar screen for a long time. Since the first part of seventh grade, he started raising money to go because we made it pretty clear that he would have to pay his own way.
Sometime last year, he asked me if I would be a chaperone. To have a 12-year-old ask for anything other than money is a rare treat. Kind of like a clean room … or brushed teeth.
During the past six months, there have been a handful of “official” fundraising drives: Concessions at SMS, selling sweatshirts, chocolate bars and a raffle. Some students didn’t sell anything or volunteer to raise their funds, while others paid their way.
I am proud to report that Austin raised every cent for his ticket and most of the money for his tag-a-long father. He refereed soccer matches, mowed grass, shoveled snow, raked leaves, baby-sat and participated in all of the fundraising he could. No federal bailout money here. He was either going to raise it or stay home.
As you will read in the next few columns, he did make it as did 22 other students, parents and a teacher, John Hankel. And yes, it’s official, our neighbors, co-workers and relatives can come out of their homes without fear of being stalked by an eighth grader looking for a donation.
Day 1
We started stumbling in to Spokane International Airport at 5 a.m. Sunday, March 29. All 23 of us boarded United No. 812 for Denver.
As we boarded the flight, I couldn’t help but notice there was a family of four sitting smack dab in the middle of our assigned seats. As I would find out, the family had emigrated from Tansania and was living in Spokane with relatives and was moving to the Philadelphia area to live with more relatives.
They were dressed in colorful clothing and spoke very broken English. So instead of uprooting the group to their proper seats, a few of our students volunteered to sit elsewhere in the plane.
After we took off, I told the teen-aged daughter that we were on a trip to New York and Washington, D.C. Her mom, sitting on the other side of her daughter, leaned forward and said: “You are going to Obama’s house?” I thought that was pretty cool.
For the record, two students tried out the airsickness bags. One did on each of the legs of the trip. One student even sprinted past security in the Denver airport on the way home to find a garbage can. After initially alerting, the security folks didn’t investigate after it became obvious what had happened. The joys of travel.
We arrived at Dulles Airport and were greeted by a huge, beautiful bus and were whisked away to the Embassy Suites at Ashburn, Va. It’s there we met, Don Brockett — driver, tour guide, keeper of the clock and awesome host. We were treated to pizza and pop. Local dentist, Jim Lewis, passed out toothpaste and toothbrushes to everyone. Jim was escorting his daughter, Beth, and his nephew, Jerry Hanford. He wasn’t about to let tooth decay get in anyone’s way of having a good trip.
Day 2
The first stop on our adventure was to Mount Vernon. Mount Vernon, as you will recall, was home base for George Washington. It was there the gentleman farmer and war hero was asked to lead this fledgling country. The rolling countryside, the Mount Vernon home that sits on the shores of the Potomac. There is no way Washington threw a silver dollar across the Potomac. It is nearly a mile across from Mount Vernon. If he had that kind of arm, he would have invented baseball and started his own league instead of simply leading this country.
His desk and study were on display just as he left them. Like all good farmers, he was a tinkerer. There was a foot-powered fan contraption attached to his chair that he designed and built. There was also a copy of how he organized rotating crops in various fields.
It was also interesting that the kitchen and food storage areas were kept in separate buildings away from the residence. Kitchen fires with an open flame were a pretty common occurrence back in the day, and the smell of hanging meat could cast a pall over the living quarters.
The father of our country is buried there and it was an impressive moment for me to think that I was witnessing real history — not the type of history portrayed in movies — but the man who led this fledgling country lived and died right here, history.
The temperature was in the low 40s when we arrived at Mount Vernon so I was surprised to see Austin wearing shorts. “It’s spring break, Dad,” he said without me even asking.
Stay tuned …