When I was in the single digits, my dad took my siblings and me to Bunker Hill in Boston, Massachusetts. He lined us up and told us to, “Hold until you see the whites of their eyes,” then Charge! There were no Redcoats in front of us. Nothing but a grassy hill and an old monument, but, when we charged, we gave it all our 6, 7, and 8 year old hearts could give. We saw the Redcoats and the fate of the American Revolution rested on US at that moment. I never forgot it.

A little over a week ago, the inaugural Bridge to History Children’s Program wrapped up in Normandy, France. We spent 9 days adventuring through the Churchill War Rooms of London, England, retaking the beachhead at Bloody Omaha, laying wreaths to our fallen Allies at their last resting place, recalling the bravery of the Bedford Boys, learning about French culture through the local school children, and driving the backroads of Normandy in WWII Jeeps and trucks.

Without a doubt, this was a life-changing trip. Not just for the students, but for the parents and for me.

To experience Normandy and D-Day through the eyes of a 9 year old is something else. Untainted by the madness of world politics, there is a purity to their perspective.

“Grown-ups like numbers. When you tell them about a new friend, they never ask questions about what really matters. They never ask: “What does his voice sound like? What games does he like best…” They ask: “How old is he? How many brothers does he have?… How much money does his father make?” Only then do they think they know him. If you tell grown-ups, “I saw a beautiful red brick house, with geraniums at the windows and doves on the roof,” they won’t be able to imagine such a house. You have to tell them, “I saw a house worth a hundred thousand francs.” Then they exclaim, “What a pretty house!”
The Little Prince by Antoine De Sainte-Exupery

The tactile nature of climbing in old German bunkers, through trenches, or the gun emplacements of Longues-sur-Mer, brought to life what the children had been reading about their whole lives.

They visualized what adults can’t see. They played war, and they were fighting the Germans again. But when taps came over the speakers at Colleville American Cemetery and the flag was lowered, they held a salute. No one told them to. They just knew.

Over the next few weeks, I will be recapping Bridge to History and sharing writings from the children - my student ambassadors to history.

They came well prepared, ready to engage, and through the fire hydrant of learning they received, they left with new goals and dreams of how to preserve history.

Our legacy starts with the children. They are the future. After the 9 days I spent overseas with my students, watching them embrace history so fully, I feel re-inspired. To hear 9 year-old Dyche tell me he wanted to bring his children to Normandy, and 12 year old Charlotte declare she never wanted to wash her hands again after holding an original photo of the Bedford Boys on Omaha Beach… it makes me smile. They get it.