In The Wall by Eve Bunting (1990), a young child and his father search for a name on the Vietnam War Memorial. They are looking for the name of his grandfather. When they find it, his father makes a tracing of it and then stands there, head bowed, for a long time. A war veteran with both legs amputated rolls up in a wheelchair and says hello. An older couple hug one another. A class of young children visit the wall with their teacher. I cried before making it to the last page. Ronald Himler's illustrations capture the seriousness of the story and the characters.
Old stone walls crisscross the region where I live. Some run alongside paved roads. Some hide within forests. While walking my dog, I encountered a man stealing stones from a wall. I was in a mood and confronted him, “Is that your wall!?” He said no. I walked on as he lifted the smallish stones into the back of his station wagon. It was a section of wall beyond my own, not easily identifiable as belonging to anyone. Neighborhoods near me are sliced by fences that are essentially walls. Six-foot tall, white, vinyl fences keep children in and strangers out of back yards. My own picket fence provides visibility, yet is intended to keep wildlife on one side and my dog on the other. I’ve heard much talk about building a wall to keep people out. I haven’t heard any mention of how walls also keep people in.
