There’s a wickedness to not exploring the past–not the past that’s contrived and shoved down your throat by a committee of people with an agenda. Go to the old buildings and listen to them speak to you. Find that little piece of a battlefield still untrammeled by suburbs. In the distance you hear a lawnmower but closer still you feel the fear and heartbreak of men in sweat-stained uniforms being carried from the field under sunny sky.

Don’t put all your faith in the snarky characterizations, the slip-shod research and self-righteous tendency to tear the noble moments of a man’s life down. We’ve all fallen and would prefer no one finds the self-pitying journal entry from 20 years ago that exposes our temptations, mixed motives and sins.

Trash the textbooks and throw open the historical libraries to children. Let them feel the leather-bound book — pages dripping with ink and humanity. To see a general’s script is to fall in love and understand this man truly existed and thought his own thoughts–not that of a scared little college adjunct professor. I may think great things about a soldier and you may think the Indian is superior, but I say, go back and be with them. Quiet little houses and dusty old local libraries await with their treasure.

Why is it wicked to be fed your history? Because you put your trust in fallen man. I think what I think. I have an agenda so go see for yourself.