Astonishing George

If I were to meet George Washington walking by my house in Connecticut, what would I think of him? Would I be impressed by his physical presence? Or would he seem barrel-chested and puffy? Would it be immediately apparent that he was extraordinarily brave and special? Or would he seem ordinary and a bit old-fashioned? Would his wooden teeth be repellent? If we struck up a conversation, would he be kind and easy to talk to? Would he make jokes and appreciate mine? Or, if silent, would he listen with expressive eyes?

Once George Washington had accepted my invitation to lunch and stepped into the house, would he react enthusiastically to the dog — an old, needy terrier who’s missing a lot of teeth like him? Would he expect a presidential feast, or would he be content to merely sit at the kitchen counter and enjoy a veggie burger with tortilla chips and salsa? When I tried to sketch in the last two hundred years for him, how would he react — ask questions? — utter exclamations! — or just listen silently while I clumsily explained the development of America, the Civil War, two World Wars, the liberation of women and African Americans, the current population, the information age, cars, airplanes, going to the moon? In the end, would he grieve or be joyous — or just giggle nervously, overwhelmed by the wonder of it all? Would he want to leave and go back to Martha — or would he beg to stay with me? Would we hug? Would we kiss? Would my husband mind?

I’ve written biographies and historical fiction involving Benjamin Franklin, Christopher Columbus, Abraham Lincoln, Clara Barton, Shakespeare, Squanto, and Plato, among others. But only once have I truly fallen in love — and that was with George Washington. When I worked on his biography twelve years ago, I lived with him daily for months. I knew I felt a deep attachment to him, but only at the end when I had to write about his death (from a simple sore throat after a ride in a storm) did I discover just how deeply attached I had become. As I wrote the words, “On December 14, 1799, George Washington, without a struggle, slipped quietly into death,” I started to weep. I wept so uncontrollably I had to take to my bed. Not only was I sad about his death back then — I was grieving for the end of our relationship now!

Since that time, I’ve yearned to be close to George Washington again. I traveled back to see him in a Magic Tree House adventure, but that was only for a brief visit, and he had much on his mind, leading men across the Delaware in a blizzard and all. We didn’t really have time to talk. The truth is what I’d prefer to do is bring him forward to our time. I’d ask him lots of questions, of course. But most of all, I’d want to answer his questions. I’d want to astonish him.