The Lone Car State

I have to admit I was being overly harsh when I wondered whether there was anything in Dallas, the city, that would outdo DFW, the airport, a place I've passed through many times without ever going outside. (The options at DFW for dining may be plentiful, but the food is nothing to write home about. And once we actually found restaurants to wander into in the city, we feasted on some of the best guacamole and the spiciest salsa I've ever encountered. The people of Dallas should really get downtown more, enjoy the endless summerlike weather and a good meal.)

The trip to Dallas would have been worthwhile even without the Mexican delicacies, even without the concert we attended on Saturday night (my surprise birthday present from my daughters, who kidnapped me for the weekend without a hint as to where we'd be heading). The packing list certainly offered no clues; I could have been going anywhere with some jeans, boots, flip flops, deodorant, and a "brazeeeeeeer that covers the nips, pleeeeeeeeze." Charming children. But time with them is a precious treat, and our brief trip south was certainly no exception.

Dallas indeed offers more than a huge airport, big hair, funny accents, and endless sprawl. We visited the Sixth Floor Museum, housed in the book depository from which JFK was shot, overlooking the infamous grassy knoll. I've seen the images many times -- live, even, when I was four -- but experiencing this piece of history with my daughters, one of whom wasn't even born yet when young John went down in a plane, was indescribable. Each of us was moved in a different way. My older daughter teared up at the footage of the president's son saluting the flag draped coffin; my younger daughter, who was weaned on television images of the twin towers going down, was, nevertheless, overwhelmed by the half century old tragedy, the senseless killing of one man. I was fascinated by the pictures of young children lining the route, folks now in the throes of middle age. I wondered if they still have nightmares about that day.

When I approached the window from which the fatal shots were fired, I stared out as the narrator on my headphones took me through the final seconds. As he outlined the slow progress of the president's limo, the busy street below became oddly empty except for one lone black car. It took the hairpin turn just as the narrator described it, passed the spot that changed the course of history just as the narrator pointed it out. There was nobody else standing at the window; in those moments, history replayed itself just for me.

Yes, we had our share of fun, long hours, and shitty food at DFW. But outside the confines of airport security, our time in Texas was priceless.