This summer the traveling version of the famous Viet Nam Memorial visited Cape May County. The half sized replica of the wall was set up in the field across the street from my house. Of course I wandered over to have a look. I didn't expect it to have a lot of impact on me. I got quite a surprise.

As I approached the wall I passed some tents that had been set up and which were being staffed by volunteers. They asked me if I needed help finding a name. I politely declined. In front of one of the tents I saw a display listing all the South Jersey residents that had been killed in the war. The length of the list shocked me. As I approached the wall I was reminded of my first visit to the full sized version in Washington D.C.

At the time I was one of those smug college students that thought they had all the answers to life. I didn't expect the wall to make an impression on me. I didn't know anyone that had died in the war. My visit was a mere formality - I was in D.C. sightseeing, and this was the next sight to be seen. My mood changed quickly as I moved towards the great black wall. I carefully avoided getting near the other visitors; afraid some of their emotion would rub off.

When I got to the center of the wall the view was overwhelming. It was like being in a grave - black marble filled my view. The names engraved on the wall were disturbing. The mementos left on the ground were moving. But the most shocking thing was looking at the wall and seeing my own reflection on the marble.

This made the experience very personal. I found myself confronting a monument to the terrible human cost of war. I thought about the people behind all those names - young men about my age. I wondered what I would have done in their place. Would I have answered my country's call? Would my name be on the wall? The old saying that freedom comes with a high price suddenly seemed very profound.