I read this piece as a father of a 14-year old (actually, she turned 15 a couple of weeks ago) and as someone who is excited about the way this play is getting kids her age excited about history.
Here is a taste:
So, while it’s fresh in my mind now, I cannot imagine forgetting any detail of sitting with Elizabeth while we watched Hamilton. But I will forget. I will forget the details of this difficult but hopeful year. I will forget the size of eyes as she stared at the stage and tried to memorize it. I will forget because the years pile on, and memories cloud as they bump into each other, and I barely remember where I was yesterday.
But she will remember. That’s the thing. She will remember every detail. She will remember it the way I remember what it was like inside Cleveland Municipal Stadium with those stupid steel beams blocking every view of the field and the wind howling off of the Lake and the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke. She will remember every little thing about that theater, about that stage, about Lin’s voice, about my jacket being around her shoulders, about Burr’s unplanned little laugh when watching King George dance, about that night.
As we walked out into New York, the echo of the show still ringing, she held on to me tight, and she stumbled because she was still inside the dream. She leaned up and kissed me on the cheek.
“Are you going to start crying again?” I asked her.
“No,” she said, but she did, just a little, and she clung to me tighter, and I leaned down and sang in her ear:
‘They’ll tell the story of tonight.”
She smiled and wiped away her tear. “They’ll tell the story of tonight,” she sang back.
Read the entire piece here.