Lost in Liberty

“375! 376! 377! We made it! Molly and I began our celebration. I can’t remember the exact order, but I know it started with raising our hands above our heads and jumping in place like Rocky. After catching our breath, at some point, we recited the Pledge of Allegiance, fumbled through the Star Spangled Banner, and chanted USA! USA! USA! Like we were at the Miracle on Ice. 

We got on our tippy toes, peaked our heads through the emerald crown, and looked out over New York City. The World Trade Towers, where we ate dinner the night before, dominated the landscape and I felt like He-Man, the Master of the Universe.  

It was 1989. My Dad was running the New York City Marathon, and along with my Mom, Molly, Joe, and I got to tag along. We were numbers five, six and seven out of seven kids. The older siblings were off at college. It was just the five of us. Anyone who has a big family knows how special that is. Family dynamics change and you have your parents all to yourselves. 

Terrorists hadn’t struck fear into the heart of our country yet, so security was relaxed. Cell phones hadn’t equipped parents with the ability to constantly monitor and connect with their children. There were no plastic water bottles or hand sanitizer. I guess people were just thirsty, dehydrated cesspools all the time. I don’t remember it bothering me. 

What I do remember, though, was an absolute sense of freedom. 

“This is an island.” My dad said. “The only way you can get lost is if you get back on that ferry to Lower Manhattan.” I don’t remember where fourteen year old Joe was. He may have opted to stay back with my parents or wander the monument alone. I just remember my Dad looking directly at me, since I was two years older than Molly. At the ripe old age of 10, I was in charge. “Don’t get on the ferry and you’ll be fine.” I nodded my head in agreement and he continued. “Meet us in the lobby when you guys have had enough.”  

Just like that we were gone. Speed walking away from our parents, because we knew running would show that we weren’t ready for this independence. All kids know that running always brings the heat. Hallways, poolsides, malls, you name it. If you want to get adults’ attention, just start running. Speed walking might get you a glance but as long as you don’t bend those knees, you're good. 

Our parents drifted out of view and we were free. 

“T’ere she is!” Annie O'Hara yanked on her sister’s sleeve in disbelief and excitement. Annie and her siblings had been staring at the horizon for the last hour. A rumor whirled it’s way though sterege that they were close, so they rushed to the deck in anticipation. With their stomachs still churning from the rough passage, their eyes darted from starboard bow to port bow and back, over and over again. At last, she had come into view. 

Lady Liberty drifted into view and they were free. 

Almost sixty years to the day that Molly and I sped walked around the Statue of Liberty, my grandmother, Annie O’Hara and her family motored past on a steamship en route to Ellis Island. They left a war-torn, impoverished Ireland in hopes that this new country would provide something they lacked. Something they longed for. Something all people long for. Liberty. Freedom without restraints. They longed for a place where their future wasn’t mapped out for them. A place where their children could thrive.

Molly and I were the heirs to this American Dream. Our grandmother had gasped at the sight of Lady Liberty. We now roamed its staircases like we owned the place. 

I’m not delusional in thinking that all Americans have achieved this level of liberty. The Irish had some advantages with navigating the Anglo dominated American society. Their skin was white and they spoke English. In a generation or two, you’d be hard pressed to tell the difference between an ancestor of the pilgrims from a kid like me. Molly and I were a case-in-point. On the other hand, my counterparts, whose ancestors came to this land in chains, without hopes and dreams, without views of Lady Liberty, without any liberty at all. They would have been followed up the staircases. They would have been questioned. “Where are your parents?” “Do you even have a dad?” “You can’t just roam around here.” “What do you think this is?” 

They wouldn’t even have had to run to get attention. I’d like to rephrase my previous statement. "All white kids know that running always brings the heat.” Black kids know that their blackness brings the heat. They can’t just speed walk their way out of it.                          

“Mike and Molly Walsh please report to the information desk. Your parents are looking for you. Mike and Molly Walsh please report to the information desk. Your parents are looking for you.” 

It was as if Lady Liberty herself calmly transferred her torch from her right hand to her left, cocked her right arm back, and “wham” backhanded me across the face. It was a trap! That beacon of freedom had become a prison in an instant. We descended those 377 steps as if Lady Liberty was crumbling with us inside. No point in speed walking now! We’ve been discovered. Our dreams dashed. 

With eyes glued to the floor and tails between our legs we approached the information desk. Surrendering our liberty to the authorities. There was no weeping or catch phrases like “we were so worried about you.” Or, “you had us scared us out of our minds.” Those things were probably true, but Bill and Kate Walsh don’t show their cards like that. “You took too long.” My mom said. “What were you doing up there? You gotta think about other people. We’ve been sitting down here, waiting for ya, for an hour.” 

The O'Hara's took a risk. In exchange for that risk, they were given liberty. Molly and I took it and ran, well… sped walked with it. We took it too far. We didn’t think about the well being of others. At the time, we had no idea that black kids weren’t afforded the same liberties as us. Knowledge of that would have shocked us. We didn’t think about our parents, and how they might be worried about us. We didn’t think about the other tourists. We just sped walked around, lost in liberty.  

My grandmother is dead now, but her dream lives on in me. It’s my turn to hold the torch. It’s my turn to risk it all for the sake of liberty. In the thirty years since then, I’ve learned some things about liberty. I’ve learned that it’s not an individual freedom. In fact, I’ve learned that when it is treated as such, it has a tendency to impede on the liberty of others. Liberty is a collective freedom. It is something that a people can only enjoy as a group. Our liberty is bound to our neighbors’. When we are only concerned with our own liberty, and not our neighbors, we think we’re free but we are moments away from that loudspeaker announcement. Like Annie O’Hara, people long for their liberty. When you forget about the liberty of others, you get backhanded across the face. A harsh reminder that your liberty is not yours alone. It is a “liberty and justice for all.”

Are we not lost in liberty at this moment in time? We’ve been backhanded across the face and our statues are literally crumbling with our country’s soul still inside. We are dealing with a global pandemic and a social reckoning, and yet, all we are worried about is our own individual liberty. We are speed walking ourselves further and further up a dark stairwell. 

“America, please report to the information desk. Your people are looking for you. “America, please report to the information desk. Your people are looking for you.