So we walk the
Freedom Trail. Our first stop is the Granary Burying
Ground, home to dead people, some of them quite famous (Paul
Revere,
Samuel Adams, Peter Faneuil). Wandering through the dappled
cool, we come to John Hancock's grave.
I begin a parental history lesson, which Graham finishes for
me.
"He signed the Declaration of Independence," he states
matter-of-factly.
"How do you know that?" I ask.
"Dad, I've known that since the second grade."
Still, my brief account of history seems to have had an effect.
Graham bends to peer intently at another grave. I am touched by his
interest.
"Look!" he says. "A ladybug!"
Unofficially established in 1625 with the arrival of William
Blaxton,
Boston is a town of many firsts. We stroll past the first
public school - the Boston Latin School, founded 1635 - continuing
on until we arrive at
Faneuil Hall and Quincy Market.
As it was in the 1700s, Quincy Market remains a fun and lively
place and a wonder of entrepreneurial commerce. We don't pose with
the gargoyle or buy any of the innumerable T-shirts, but we do buy
a small wooden schooner because it has historical roots in this
nautical town.
We have lunch at Cheers. Exhibiting their place in history, the
boys have never heard of the show.
While we were at the Prudential Center we booked an afternoon
Boston Duck Tour. We drop back down into the subway, and Cullen
ably steers us back to the Prudential Center where the Ducks
depart. Ducks, for the uninitiated, are lumbering land-and-water
vehicle-boats that make the ultimate tour vessel.
If the
Army ever mounts an amphibious attack on Boston, no one will
notice. Ducks are everywhere, cornering clunkily around city
blocks, their drivers maintaining an incessant patter of facts,
which they interrupt occasionally to instruct their passengers to
quack like ducks.