Minion Wonderland - Universal Studios

Making that first turn to get to the gate is a bit nerve racking, they say you are on the list but they give you “the number” just in case. Having it already dialed up, we approach the security guard’s gate.

“Hi, how are you today.” Always start with the niceties; maybe they will treat you like they know you.

“Can I have your licenses?” We hurriedly scramble in our purses and produce the legalities. It feels like an eternity while he inputs them into the system to find our names.

“Where are you ladies going?” he leans menacingly out the window, I pause a second trying to remember.

“The bungalows.” Whitney replies, I smile like I was expecting it. He frowns and nods his head in approval; I felt my face start to turn red.

“Here are your passes, just go straight through and take a right down….” He kept talking as I grabbed the brightly colored passes and stared at them for a few moments. My name was on those passes. I finally have made it into a real studio.

“Thank you!” Whitney sings as she nudges me to go forward. I thank the guard as well and lurch into wonderland. The first time driving onto Universal Backlot is one of the coolest experiences a person can ever have. It doesn’t matter if you are just working at one of the detached bungalows or if you are a part of the staff, you get this feeling that “I have made it”. When you see the massive movie posters that light up each boring grey wall of the stages you realize that this is more than just advertisements… these posters are trophies, they are showing off what has been accomplished on this lot. You could get wonderfully lost back there which is probably why it is so hard to get in initially; people say it is one of the hardest studios to get into in Hollywood, thank goodness we didn’t have an issue.

            When a tram full of tourists from all over the world drives past you and takes your picture you know that the feeling you felt at the initial entrance was completely logical – you are a super star for all they know and you definitely feel like one. Driving through the lot, you pass people drinking their coffees and making notes on their binders while trying to hold up a conversation with the three people next to them. You see people driving around on their golf carts, not really looking at you because you are just another guy but you try to take another look to see if you recognize them. There are grip trucks everywhere that are unloading and loading, makeup trailers, PA’s running around with coffee and updated budget sheets to put in production binders…it is all chaotic and wonderful at the same time. We pass the Illumination Entertainment studio with all the happy minion statues out front like they just popped out of the movie - I feel like I am not in a real place, this is fake, right? We drive past the Backlot Café, which is the one place on the entire Backlot campus to get food for the everyday studio workers; I have a feeling I will be spending quite a bit of time here.

            We round the corner past the big Ted statue to get to the road that leads to the Bungalows where we will be spending every single day for the next week and a half. We pass the DreamWorks studio with the little fishing boy sitting on the moon to welcome you into the gate. For the first time I really was able to ponder what that meant for me as a child, watching that logo come up on the screen as I committed to memory some of my favorite movies that they created. This studio is a place of creativity and creation; it is a place where people can come from all over the world and make something that is from their imagination, when you are making something that you know will touch others it is like you are sitting on the moon as a child again. Someone once told me that when you imagine things you are using the same brain activity that you use when you experience real life and sometimes even more so. To create a reality such as a movie you have to have an imaginary mentality and to be on this lot is such a privilege – to be surrounded by so many people that I will never meet that have created some of the greatest movie masterpieces of our generation is an unparalleled feeling. I couldn’t wait to get to work.

            The Bungalows, which are nothing more than grey wood paneled work trailers, are not beautiful to look at aesthetically, but they were honestly the most exquisite buildings I had ever seen; this was where we would be living and sometimes sleeping constantly while preparing for the upcoming shoot. This was our office.

            Universal Studios is a fantastic place filled, like said above, with magic and imagination that comes alive. There are so many sets that you can see when you take a tram ride through the studio. What most people do not know is that a lot of movie sets are not actually in “Philadelphia” or “Canada”, but rather in a sound stage or set that has been used over and over again by different productions. The set for “Back to the Future” and “ How I Met Your Mother” are one in the same.  A lot of different New York or big city productions sets are filmed at Universal Studios, when you are able to go there to take the tour you will get a lively tour guide to tell you all the different movies and TV shows that have been filmed on the lot. Quite a few reality and game shows are filmed on location there and have their own sound stage such as “The Voice”.

            Universal City Walk is the section of Universal Studios that everyone who visits California needs to go to at least once. It is the big outdoor shopping center that is introduced by the Universal Studios Globe fountain at the entrance. The City Walk has restaurants and sweets shops, a movie theater, pretty much everything you could ever want as a tourist. There are live performers that come and grace you with their music at the big courtyard in the middle and there is usually a group that does a flash mob at one point. The best part about City Walk is that you do not have to pay (except parking) to walk around and enjoy a casual dinner and drink while people watching and sniffing around at the different shops.

            Los Angeles is filled with so many different options to shop, star watch, gawk at and experience, Universal Studios is one of the iconic places that you have visit when you come to the City of Angels. After walking on the star’s footprints at the Chinase Grauman Theater, braving the traffic and getting the worst sunburn of your life at Venice beach, ending the day at City Walk will wrap up the experience of a California day. 

He looks like a Gyro - St Louis

 The big Greek Church hides behind the trees as you turn the corner of the frontage road leading into the wealthier neighborhoods in St Louis. I-270 is on your right and lush, green manicured lawns to a few businesses, churches and country clubs on your left; at nine in the evening you kind of feel like you are a burglar who is up to no good. The church, set back from the road, is introduced by a huge canvas sign “St Louis Greek Festival” with the deflated big billowing stick man that undulates in the wind during the day, beaconing you to get “A taste of Greece – without the airfare.” I turn into the massive parking lot which as you get deeper into the property shows the actual massiveness of the church. Peaking out from behind the building, I see the white tents that are set up every year. This year is bigger than last, I can tell there are more tables and a bigger outdoor stage for the musicians who play Greek music all day long. A police officer whose face is lit up by his laptop keeps watch in his car and follows me with his eyes as I park my car against the bushes that boarder the church lot. As I get out and walk towards the rear of the church the officer gets out and greets me,

            “Evening.” He says, less gruff than I expect him to be.

            “Good evening, I’m here to see Peter?” I say questioningly, there hasn’t been a security guard before.

            “Right, you’re good. Go ahead on in.” he smiled and waved at me as I continued on. The tents stretched all the way down to the back lot; at the end there was a huge section of grills that light up each morning and feed thousands of people kabobs and other Mediterranean delicacies. I smiled when I saw a small table that had rickety old white chairs surrounding it, bending in the legs and dirty from years of use - this is where the old Greek men sit around drinking their Mythos beer and talking about all the pretty girls that walk by. In a strange sweet way that was one of my favorite places to take my break when I worked here years ago, they loved it almost as much as I did.

            I rounded the corner and climbed the seven steps it took to get to the back door of the kitchen. The mats with holes in them were draped along the railing and wet suds were dripping off of them, onto the sidewalk that was riddled with empty boxes, cigarette butts and metal chairs that were way past their life expectancy. I always wonder if I ran things if I could make it better, but I know that if I changed anything at all it would throw the essence of the place into a nightmarish cluster of crap; Greek people are too set in their ways, and that is how I like it. I knocked on the dirty white door and then tried the knob.

            Stepping into the Assumption Greek Church kitchen is like stepping into a home, it is here where all the love and family come together and fill people’s spirits with a taste of their real, first home. The huge line of ladles, whisks and spoons all hung in vast amounts over the preparation table that had been newly washed (for the fifth time today no doubt). The great gas stoves that sat up against the wall next to the door was black with soot and seemed as if it was hurrying up to sleep for a few hours before the whole thing would start up again. The ovens with the red handles were empty and ready for the next onslaught of pasticcio and spanakopita to be thrown in.

             “Peter?” I yell, stepping lightly on the newly mopped kitchen floor. There were two white tables next to the dishwasher on the far wall that were laid side by side with buckets of olives underneath and the cart with the big white tubs that would hold mass amounts of Romaine lettuce during the day. This was where they made the amazing Greek Salads in assembly line, topped with feta, olives, pepperoncini’s, onions and the secret salad dressing. This is where I spent most of my time when I worked, this was where I would banter with Andy and the old Greek women as they came in and out, critiquing how I was putting the salad together, snorting “good” in a heavy accent as they quickly hustled out again.

             “Hey!” Peter walked in and gave me a big hug, “You made it!”

             “Barely! I got stopped by that policeman out there.” I laughed as he grabbed my shoulders and led me past the kitchen utensils and prep tables to the big dining hall where Gabby was mopping the huge floor. Peter hopped up on the drinks counter and we chatted a bit about how the festival was going and how things were flowing. He was one of the kitchen lead/managers now and had been for a while; being a Greek Orthodox man himself he was always involved in whatever was going on that was Greek in St Louis.

             “How’s Andy doing?” I asked, leaning against the counter. Peter got up and grabbed the unarmed mop that was lying on the ground.

             “He’s alright, tired as usual.” Andy was the head chef in the kitchen, a tall Greek man who had a beer belly and smoked about a pack and a half of cigarettes a day. He had a gravely voice that thundered out across the kitchen and always sounded angry, though it was just his way of getting things done. Even when the kids did screw up he got mad but it was never lived very long, he always had a tender heart, he loved the group of kids that work for him; every year he asks them to come to Mykonos, an island in Greece where he plans on retiring, sometime in the future.             

             “Yea, you just get to the island by boat and when you show up, the locals come down to the docs and take you back to their places for cheep, they will keep you like you are family because to them you are for the next couple days. You can stay there and they will feed you for a few dollars. It’s like nothing you have ever seen in your life. It’s the most beautiful place in the world.” He always makes me crave to travel there. Whenever anyone would speak of Greece from that church it was always as if they were going to return there soon which made it more alive than you could imagine. Every time you started a day at the Greek Church you knew that you were going to be taken to another country just by being around the people, listening to them talk and look forward to going back. The men that sit around the white tables at the grills outside have the best stories, but only if they like you. They would talk about every time you went into the ocean there was going to be some new fish swimming along side you as you snorkeled around the islands, you would find a rare shell along the beach or you would meet a beautiful native that would sweep you away to a romantic spot where you would watch the sunrise peaking over their shoulder.  

            The Greek Festival is not just something you attend; it is an annual event that you live at for the day. You eat the best Greek food in town, then shop around at their Agora where various venders from around St Louis come and set up just like a Greek market, then you eat some more, meet some Greek people and become best friends, then you eat some more. They have every type of Greek food you could imagine from Gyros to Dolmades to Baklava – pair that up with Mythos and you have the perfect day.

            I grabbed a towel and the half-empty bottle of cleaner and began to scrub down the buffet serving tables as they finished up mopping. The pictures of the different Greek cities were spaced out on the wall around the massive dining hall – Mykonos, Athens, Santorini, etc. It was almost like you got a tour of Greece without having to go there. I could almost hear the room echoing with loud voices, calling out to each other and yelling at their children to stop running, the ladies calling for treys to be refilled and gyros to be brought in from the grills. The long line for the register reaches out way past the door to the outside, and on a good day will go all the way to the end of the church and wrap around. 

            “Alright we’re finished, you almost ready to go?” I asked as Peter threw the mops back into the bucket and shifted his attention to checking to make sure all was well before locking up. Gabby glided behind the large curtain on the stage to turn off the music and pack things up.

            “Yea, just one more thing.” He grabbed a to-go box from the counter and disappeared into the kitchen. I sat on the counter again, staring at the large baker’s racks filled with baklava and other sweet Greek treats that were sure to be dripping with honey and cloves. “Here.” He appeared again next to me and handed me the box, I didn’t have to open it to know that there was olives, feta and pita inside - he remembered. Family never forgets.

Hi, I'm Samantha! - Lawrence

           “No, it’s Samantha Halvino. H-A-L-V-I-N-O” I said, putting an emphasis on the last letter, pretending to be annoyed as the sweet lady sitting behind the fold out table tenderly perused through the list of names that were right in front of her. My heart was pounding, they were asking my friend for her student ID and I didn't know what I would say if they asked. I kept looking away and folding my arms - all an act, mostly because I saw the patrolman standing at the front door making sure that there wasn’t any mischief happening that night. Little did he know that mischief was right under his nose. And I was terrified.

            “Ah, there you are, Samantha.” She smiled up at me and I half smiled back, holding out the $10.00 I owed her.

            “It says here you are pre-paid?” She looked at me quizzically. Uh oh…

            “Oh, really? Mom must have sent it in.” I glanced at my friend who was having problems herself, as her name hadn’t been found yet. I felt my face start to turn red as I began to realize what I was going to be doing if I took the ticket. The lady narrowed her eyes. “Hey, uh… my friends are coming soon how much later are you letting people in?” I asked, trying to be cool but feeling like they were going to catch on any moment; honestly they couldn't be THAT stupid. I held my breath and shot a small glance at the officer standing by the door, HE WAS STARING RIGHT AT ME. What did they do, have some kind of signal? Did she press a button under the table? 

            “We are closing down in about 45 minutes, sweetheart, tell them to hurry on up.” she looked down and checked Samantha's name off. I smiled at her and huddled next to my friend who was finally getting things figured out after showing her student ID. They found her name and I let out a silent sigh as she went through the rest of her formalities.

            “Ready, Samantha?” she smiled up at me as more kids flooded in and pushed us towards the entrance. We pushed through to get stand in line for the coat check, I reached into my pocket to grab a couple bucks, my hands were starting to shake a little.

            “Samantha??” a woman’s voice called from behind, I felt a hand grab my shoulder.

           Driving through Kansas is always a bit of a commitment, though pretty it can be very tedious - traveling between endless fields of corn, barley, hay and oats. This time of year isn’t so bad, the rainy season just ended and so everything was still green, the hills weren’t as dusty as usual and the trees were still full. I grew up on these roads, dad had to travel for work and we homeschooled so we could travel with him. We would count the hawks that perched on the fences that lined the roads, play the alphabet game with road signs and license plates and count the mile markers to our destination. Understandably we never did our homework, or would do it for ten minutes at a time because there was just too much to do while riding in the car, too much to complain about.

            It’s a sin to play anything but country as you travel west in Kansas and honestly nothing else fits as you leave the big cities, seeing the horses and fields and barns. It is a simple state, not a lot happening compared to even the countryside in California, but there is a lot of life lived behind the scenes. Fruit stand signs dot the exits and almost every stop has a trucker’s lodge and nasty, old fast food. It’s actually a very calming drive because you have time to think, you cannot do anything but focus on what is running through your mind and that was a bit of a relief. The farther you get into the state the more dusty and as some people would call it "hick" you get, though it isn't so much that as it is just a simpler way of living. You make do with what you have and you store up what you don't know you will need in the future, everyone says "hello" and you talk to them as if you have known them for years. 

            I finally made it to my destination and had barely enough time to change at my friend's house before jumping back into the car with my friend in tow. Downtown Lawrence, as you could expect, seems to not have changed in 30 years. Everything has an old town feel on the outside of the buildings, with false fronts and modern western-style decor. It is a college town so the people that walk around are typically of the younger variety so it has this upbeat, country, hipster, vintage flavor when you drive through Main Street which would be strange except that it's just how Kansas works.

            “This reminds me of home.” I smiled at Anna as she sat nervously on the seat next to me. She was the last friend of mine that was graduating from high school, she was all set for college in the fall at Kansas State and I couldn’t be more proud of her. We grew up together in small town about four hours east of here, surrounded by farm country and people who had been around for at least four generations. Everyone’s family lived just across town where you could get to them in five minutes (even during “rush hour”). She looked up at me and slightly smiled before staring back down at her lap. “Remember the old farm right outside of our neighborhood? The one with the red and white striped silo that everyone saw when they came into town?” I said trying to get her mind off of things.

            “Yea.” She laughed a little, “And Whittaker Park right down the street.”

            “Where we climbed up on that huge cement gate structure thing?”

            “And the teeter-totters that no one should have played on?”

            We were laughing as we pulled into the school parking lot.

            “Keep driving through here, you can park next to the field, no one will park back here.” She said as we broke away from the massive line of cars.

            “Find me after, here’s my phone.” She handed it to me and got out of the car by the entrance.

             “Good luck!” I yelled as she smiled and closed the door. I parked and prepared myself for another LONG graduation.

            “Common, Kelli! You have to come with me.” Anna said, as we were finishing up cleaning her graduation party at one of the local restaurants. My face full of another red velvet cupcake, I almost choked as I laughed. After having just finished my last full year of college, it seemed silly that she wanted me to come to her Grad Night. “It’s going to be fun and I don’t want you sitting alone at my house.”

            “How am I going to get in?”

            “Here, do you have the ceremony booklet thing?” Anna’s friend asked me. I shuffled in my bag for a moment before producing the crumbled blue and black program from earlier today. “Here lets look.” She held the booklet open for both Anna and her to see.

            “Well… I don’t think she would go… maybe her?”

            “No she said she would be there for sure.”

            “What about Michelle? She said she didn’t know if she was coming or not.” Anna suggested.

            “No, no. You don’t want to run that risk.”

            “Hannah?”

            “She’s going for sure. Hmmm.” She looked up at me and then it was like a light bulb popped on in her head. “Her.” She pointed at a name and Anna smiled up at me.

            “Hello, Samantha.” She stuck out her hand to shake mine.

            “Samantha??” I felt the firm grasp on my arm and looked back hesitantly. I’m done for.

            “Yes?” I hesitantly replied as one of the teacher helpers that had been helping to distribute the tickets looked down at me. She smiled and held out a couple little pieces of paper.     

            “You forgot these.” She handed them to me and told me how to enter the raffle. I sighed and looked at Anna who almost couldn’t control her laughter. I thanked the lady and took the tickets.

            “You should totally enter the raffle!” Anna prodded. I looked at her and felt a huge sinking feeling in my stomach.

            “What if she comes??” I hissed at her, “I just took her ticket that she PRE-PAID! They’re going to come down and kick me out!”

            “You’re going to be fine, if she didn’t show up by now then she isn’t coming.” I still didn’t feel better. We threw our names into the raffle for the random prized and also for the $500.00. “If you get that, it’s mine.” Anna laughed but I knew he too well to know she was not kidding. 
            We handed the people at the door our tickets and stepped inside. It was a massive room with a huge staircase that let down to a room full of games. There was a bull-riding pit, blow up booths that dropped money, a poker room, a dance floor… a high school kids dream. I don’t think I ever felt so happy to have grown up, looking around and just being able to feel the cliques shift throughout the entire room like mini herds of sheep. I guess that is one thing about traveling – no matter where you are or what you are doing there is always going to be the same type of human behavior, just a different flavor of what is expressed. 
              We walked around a bit and I met a few of Anna's friends, we joked around and told them about how I got in. It's different being back in Kansas, everyone was more polite and seemed more interested in asking questions about you, it was actually kind of nice to be back in this environment where people don't get out much and someone who is new in town is the biggest thing to talk about. 
             "Samantha Halvino!" I heard the name over the speakers. WHAT! I grabbed Anna's arm and stared at the DJ desk. They were calling the raffle. Anna burst out laughing, 
            "You HAVE to go up there!" 

The Spot - St Louis

Going home is always a weird scenario for me after having left for college. St Louis is a wonderful city, full of fantastic people and beautiful countryside, it has such a diverse feel to it – much like any big city – but one that makes you feel like you belong somehow.

            A pack of middle school boys whipped right in front of me on their skateboards as I was crossing the street to continue on the sidewalk,

“Sorry!” one yelled back at me before they disappeared around the corner into a subdivision of houses. I mean, at least they apologized which is more than you get in California where the pedestrian apologizes. My house sat at the top of the hill I had walked down and you could just see it between the trees; if you did not know what to look for you would never even know houses were even there. In some ways my house feels like a tree house, surrounded by lush, massive trees that turned beautiful fiery colors during the fall and shed them in the winter just in time for the frosts and snows to take over. When spring hits they blossom and rains pollen, which is a nuisance but you just have to take a LOT of Benadryl.

This time of year is way different. It is still green from the end of spring, flowers still dot the lawns and small land plots that have not been dug up yet, the trees still shine from the rain that we had gotten yesterday – it wasn’t as muggy which made my walk uphill a bit more pleasurable. Remembering every single crack along the way I had forgotten how normal it felt to just take a walk in the neighborhood without having to worry about bringing someone along with you or looking over your shoulder every thirty seconds. It was safe here, a happy neighborhood where nothing really seemed to go wrong, almost like a bubble that never aged.

            My feet crunched the gravel as the asphalt turned into a rocky path that led up to the large rod-iron gate, welcoming you to the park. This part of the walk was always the best intro to your destination. You have civilization and houses on one side with cars lined all along the way, and on the side I was walking there is a semi-dense forest that houses thousands of animals you almost always get to catch a glimpse of. The tree cover makes it look quite menacingly dark and the cloud cover didn’t make it much nicer either but I liked the feeling of mystery, of what might be in there watching me. I am so glad that nothing has changed much here, the houses, the trees, the untouched land. I approached the massive gate, walking through, smiling and waving at a couple who were power walking with their dog back out to the real world.

            I hadn’t walked down this way since I was a senior in high school. Crazy to think that was about three years ago and nothing has really changed except the weeds were more unkempt. The old river house that sits looking out over the wide Mississippi River looked as dead and romantic as ever. Vines hanging from the roof and the slate tiles they dripped from seemed as if they would slip off at any minute from hanging on for too many years. The multicolored river stone that made up the body of the house gave it a welcoming feel, despite the black windows that told you not to go in (but made you want to all the more).

There was a dead fountain with a centerpiece that looked like a frozen tulip, which was now more of a rest stop for hikers. We took our prom pictures right here looking out over the river, it was the first time I had ridden in a limo. I found the stairs that led down to the less-used trails; you could see that someone had tried it recently because of the shoe slides that looked as if someone had come really close to falling down the steep hill that landed on the train tracks. I hoped that one day someone would buy this old house, knowing it was property of St Louis Parks and Recreation, and would live in it again. It used to be a museum but that did not last long. I’m always afraid that one day I will come back and it won’t be there anymore. I’m always gone for so long it seems like someday I am going to come back and there won’t be anything left of my childhood because the rest of the world moves on.

Sloshing through the still damp grass underneath the century old oak trees, I remember underneath that circle of trees down the road and to the left is where I had my first kiss, farther down the path is where I saved my friend from overdosing, and also where I had my best talks with some of my best friends. I smiled as I reached the overlook that you can see far into Illinois from, I remember walking my dogs over here and putting them up on the banister, scaring them to death. I remember laughing with my friends and family in this very spot.

A deer gingerly stepped out from the bushes below the overlook and picked at some berries, I stayed perfectly still as I watched it nestle it’s way back into the brush not noticing my intrusion. They must be so used to people now it wouldn’t even have mattered if she saw me. Sometimes I feel as though I am the deer, that I have gotten so used to my surroundings that I forget how the world is actually supposed to be; I am supposed to run from frightening things and yet they don’t phase me anymore, I am supposed to defend where I live and yet, I let things pass by without a word. The river, though dirty and to some not very pretty to look at was stunning today - maybe because I hadn’t been here in so long, but it really was magnificent. It was raised up almost to the Illinois’ farmer’s crop, I always felt bad for him because the river was always threatening his livelihood this time of year and sometimes followed through with it’s cruel blanket.

I didn’t mean to be so secretive when finding my way to the no-so-hidden-anymore trail my friends and I used to get down to the river. I didn’t want to go all the way down there, just to the spot. I couldn’t remember if it was down this narrow pathway or the next, it was hidden so well and on such a steep slope that I was half afraid to try it alone. Then I saw a tree that my friends had marked a long time ago with a knife and I knew this was it, also because now I could see it wasn’t so secret anymore. I half swung down into the overhang-cave, almost falling down but I was able to steady myself enough to not hit my head. The limestone rock was covered with new graffiti and that made me sad, this was such a sacred spot and in just three years this is what happens. But, I could still find it, “Kelli – ‘09”. It was faint because I had carved it out of the rock instead of use a sharpie like the stupid kids did. My imprint was imbedded in the rock for as long as it the rock would let it. Thankfully the overhang, which wasn’t large, was just deep enough to keep rain water out for the most part. It was on a hill so the rain drained down to the tracks and into the river. I sat down on the ground and looked out again at the river – to me, this was the best spot in the entire city. This was the spot where I did a lot of thinking and a lot of praying while I was in high school. This was where I made my most important decisions, not all good ones, but this is where it mostly all happened. I took a deep breath and I suddenly realized that this place would not hold the closure that I was searching for, this is not the place where I was going to find peace, no matter how comforting it was at the moment. It was from here that I made new beginnings; it was here that I made the decision to come out to California; it was here that I made the decision to continue on in life never looking back but only to remember what I learned. It was here where I learned how to become an individual. This is a starting place. This was the right place to be.

Don't Climb On the Cannons - Charleston

My whole body jerked with the boat as it lurched to a stop, hitting the buoys on the dock of the small island. I watched my parents, mom with her face glued to the window as she "oohed" and "aahed" at the fort just rising above the mist of the morning, commenting on every aspect of what was visible, and dad as he removed the hat from his face after being rudely woken up from his nap. Oh, family. A bast of cold violently shocked my body as one of the ship hands opened the front door of the ferry, "We will be leaving at 12:00 noon, sharp. Be on the boat at approximately 11:45 AM or we will be leaving without you." This gave us about an hour, which was enough time for me, but I could see out of the corner of my mom's eye that it wouldn't be nearly enough time. I smiled to myself, I hope my mom never changes.

"Ready?" My brother, now a nuclear engineer in the Navy, placed his arm around my shoulder and smiled down at me. It had been almost two years since I had seen him and it felt like no time had passed at all. He had just finished his nuclear training at the fort here in Charleston and we had come up to watch the ceremony and to celebrate. I smiled up at him as he led the way for our family to the gang plank and onto the rocky shore of Fort Sumter. It is always strange to me how different you feel when you step into a preserved historical landmark, how you can sometimes actually sense the air change to an older, more distant essence. The walls that would seem like a giant castle to a younger child seemed unimposing and quite penetrable to me. The holes in the wall every 10 feet away from each other where the cannons would shoot through - I felt like I was stepping onto an island pirate ship. The families and school groups swarmed as my family and I briskly beelined for the entrance, desiring some warmth and a break from the cold sea air. Once I stepped inside it was a bit different than expected. A small bunch of tourists (which I despise admitting I was one of) were broken off from the larger group to listen to a very tall, very slender tour guide who you could tell had repeated this specific monologue once too many times today, and it was still wasn't noon yet. My dad was already loosing interest and slowly backed away from the group, no doubt to get down as close as he could to the water to discover small crabs while my brother, being the good Navy man that he was, listened intently and responded to the tour guide when appropriate. Mom was there, arm around my waist soaking up all the time that she had left with her two kids, knowing that this would be one of the last times we would all be together like this. With me living in California and my brother with his wife on the East Coast, it is a rare occasion to have us all together at once, and even a rarer occasion to have it just the four of us. The guide readily ended his speech, beckoning us to look around but to not climb on the cannons.

They were massive, exactly like the ones that would have been on a pirate ship, set on semi-circle tracks that would allow for the cannon to be moved by about five men to hit the target. They were massive hunks of metal...and were so enticing even for a 21 year old to climb onto, he really should not have said that with so many kids in the audience. The windows in which they would shoot out of were rounded perfectly for movement and aiming - I could imagine men dressed in uniform, red faced and sweating under the humid sun, pushing these heavy cannons to aim at an enemy vessel.

"Ready...Aim.... FIRE." I snapped out of my trance to see a little 8 year old boy with a coonskin cap and a stick he must have brought with him from the shore, he was standing on the little ledge underneath the hole that the cannons shot out of, thrusting his stick out like a rapier, ordering his imaginary men to follow his every command. I chuckled to myself as his mother came over and grabbed him off the ledge, chiding him for being so loud and lightly spanking him off to another section of the monument. I half-followed the kid over to an old storage/armory room. It did not have a roof but you could completely imagine what it would have looked like when it was active, with people going in and out, making assembly lines during an attack. My little entertainment found another friend and they began to pretend that they were in a real battle. Coon-head whispered to his friend, "Here, you hide over there and pretend like they are coming in from that way. I have the gun so I will be right here by the door. Tell me when you see them." she nodded very seriously as she ran behind one of the stone benches, shaking with fear as she peaked over the bench and stared right at the door, exactly where I was peaking through. "THERE!" She yelled pointing in my direction, the kid jumped out and pretended to shoot with his wooden stick. "Oh no, I've been shot!" someone shouted behind me, I heard a thud as they then fell to the ground, convulsed once then was silent. The kids were genuinely amazed as they slowly walked over to the person on the ground. I couldn't help but laugh silently as the boy looked at the fallen foe and then his comrade, held his breath then crouched down next to the body. "Is he dead?" the little girl asked. The boy reached out, almost touching him, and put his head down. "Yes. Our colonel is dead." I choked up a little. Suddenly the boy shot up and grabbed the girls hand, "No time to lose! We have to hide from the Juggernauts!" I couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Convincing, wasn't I?" The dead colonel smiled as he got up and then rejoined his group who were making their way over to the memorial gift shop.

I searched for a little while before spotting mom's bright blue blouse through one of the observation tower's cracks, then climbed the stairs that led to it. From up here I could see the entire monument; not everything is as it seems, the structure was two times the size that it looked. There was a big courtyard on the other side that had a great flag in the middle. It was a cloudy day so we could not see out very far - I felt as though I was one of those kids, imagining civil war times with people everywhere, the fort under attack and the ringing crack of cannons through the air. Fort Sumter in 1861was a Union base that defended and fought against the Confederates, one of the only ones on the eastern half of the United States. The fort was quite the building, looking as if it was just sitting in water instead of on an island, with it's walls leading right into the ocean's edge, the pictures made it look like a spectacle, a dazzling colonial building. The one last great battle that took place on the fort ended in Union surrender, surprisingly though the only casualty that happened did not happen during the battle but during the 100 cannon salute - one of the cannons misfired and killed one of the soldiers after about 50 shots were fired. Though it does not look like much now and definitely does not look like it once did, it stands proud and strong against the constant beating of the ocean and thunderstorms that rack the South Carolina coasts. The fog started to dissipate and we could see more of the land and how close we were to it, how frustrating that must have been during the war because they would run out of rations and could not get to shore because South Carolina was confederate country. There is so much about this little spot of land that shows the strength and dignity of America and what it stood for. Though we are a spot in the countries of the world we will still stand, though surrounded by enemies we will still fight even to the bitter end. As we made our way back to the ferry, laughing with my family and remembering how wonderful it is to be able to experience life together, I came to appreciate even more than before why America is so great and why my brother is so determined about his job. The people that fight for this country are the people that have a vision - the same people that had a vision for this fort, that when it was decayed and crumbling, our people - the American people - would be FREE; free to come whenever they wish to see the remains of what had been done for them. To remember that they loved this country and that they in extension love us because we are the generations they fought for. We are the people that they were thinking of when they loaded these cannons and fired them against those that would not defend the rights of all. Remember that when you have the urge to climb up on that cannon to first respect and remember what happened here was patriotism - it was love at its deepest.