Riding behind Dad, not pedalling, I make him do the work. I look up at the black sky lit by hundreds of lights. We make our way to the Lincoln Memorial. The hundreds of steps up to the statue seemed daunting to an eight year old. I never understood why this was so monumental until I got older.

We hopped back on the bikes to go to the next site: the Korean War memorial. The darkness of the night made this memorial more meaningful. The statues were placed in the grass just like they would be walking in real life, the lights shining from the ground illuminating these statues. Once again, my parents were in awe of the beauty and influence the statues had on them. I thought it was cool but I never fully captured the meaning until I got older.

Arriving at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, I saw the uniformed soldiers stand in a line with their guns resting in their hands. Emotionless faces shouted commands. My family and I watched as they walked across the concrete, the click clack of their shoes so in sync it could have been just one person. The memorial isn’t just for one single unknown soldier, but for all soldiers killed in war. I neither knew nor could comprehend this idea until I got older.

Just last year, my family and I arrived at the foot of the where the Twin Towers previously stood. The 9/11 Memorial shed beauty and despair simultaneously. The sun shed light on to the black marble edges of the vast waterfall. I was finally older, I looked at the memorial and a wave of sadness filled my body. I imagined innocent people’s lives ending from a terrorist attack.

I live in a society were I have more rights than other places. At these memorials, each and every name on the wall fought for me. They fought for my friends. They fought for my family. They fought for us to have the freedom we have today. I never understood this until I got older.