[As part of our
annual Virginia trip last summer, the boys and I—and AmericanStudier
madre—visited Colonial Williamsburg for
the first time. So this week I’ll AmericanStudy some different histories and
elements that are part of that complex and compelling historic site. Add your
thoughts, on Williamsburg or other historic sites, in comments!]
On the
disconnect and the connections fostered in Williamsburg’s most playful space.
I visited
Colonial Williamsburg at least a few times in the course of my
Virginia childhood, and I’m not ashamed—well, maybe slightly ashamed, but I’m
working through it with the help of a good AmericanStudiesTherapist and some scholarly
perspectives on the importance of childhood play—to admit that what I
remember best from those visits is the
hedge maze located behind the Governor’s Palace. There was something about
wandering among those tall hedges that was both fun and disconcerting, part familiar
childish enjoyment and part immersion in a different world than my own, and
when I began planning this trip to Colonial Williamsburg with my own kids, I
couldn’t wait to introduce them to the maze as well (although our annual fall
visit to a local corn maze means that the disconcerting side of a hedge maze
wouldn’t be quite as pronounced for them).
The maze was one
of the first things we did upon arrival, and corn maze notwithstanding the boys
did indeed have a blast; but I have to admit that as an adult AmericanStudier I
recognized a disconnect in the space I had never noticed before. The Governor’s
Palace literally and figuratively towers over the rest of Colonial
Williamsburg, a building that is so different from the rest of the town in
size, in architectural and artistic grandeur, and in the expanse of its grounds
that it purposefully leaves no doubt about the power dynamic between a royal
governor and a community of colonial citizens. That dynamic extended, of
course, to the families and guests of the governors compared to those of the
rest of the town; while the hedge maze is now accessible to any Colonial
Williamsburg visitors, that is, it would be more accurate to the site’s history
to reserve its use to only those who buy tickets to tour the Governor’s Palace.
Childhood play, like every other aspect of life in Colonial Williamsburg (and,
frustratingly but unquestionably, 21st century America),
differed widely across the town’s and period’s class and social divisions.
I didn’t talk
about any of that with my boys as they ran through the hedge maze, though. For
one thing, how much of a
Debbie Downer would I have to be to do that?! Even AmericanStudiers have to
just have Dad fun with their kids sometimes, as my AmericanStudiesTherapist is
quick to remind me. But for another thing, there’s an important historical side
to their enjoyment of the maze (and mine as a kid): it connects them to those
young Williamsburgers who ran through the maze three hundred years ago,
reminding us of some of the essential childhood connections that endure across
historical (as well as social and cultural) differences. Kids aren’t immune to
the kinds of broader issues I referenced in the last paragraph, but neither are
they entirely defined or limited by them—and indeed, remembering the ways in
which kids can exist outside of, and thus perhaps transcend, those historical
and social issues is a vital way to argue for things like
early childhood education and similar policies
and programs in the present. Far from being a shameful escape from history’s
realities, then, a run through Colonial Williamburg’s Governor’s Palace Maze
links us to an alternative and vital part of our collective pasts and
identities.
January Recap
this weekend,
Ben
PS. What do you
think?
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