Steve had known when he decided to journey across America following the Battle of New York that at some point he would end up here, in the nation's capital. He loved Washington, D.C. It had been one of his favourite stops on his USO tour. The history and the energy of the place reminded him of why he'd decided to serve in the first place. And D.C. had given him a fantastic reception the last time he'd visited. His show had sold out, and crowds had gathered to cheer him on everywhere he went. He'd been the focal point of a ticker tape parade so enthusiastic that he could barely see a foot in front of his face for all the confetti being thrown.
Now, his trip had taken him to one of his favourite places, the Smithsonian.
Steve stared up in awe at the sight in front of him, one which never ceased to inspire him. The Spirit of St. Louis, Charles Lindbergh's famous plane, the first to ever cross the Atlantic ocean, was suspended high above him still intact 87 years after it's momentous journey. It made Steve's heart swell knowing that it was still here. That is still mattered. At least to him and the historians who had preserved it all these years.
It disappointed him how few visitors there were to this particular exhibit. A few families from out of town were milling about, their small children running and laughing, unaware of the importance of the artifacts around them. A group of older children on a class trip were nearby, looking bored as the tour guide prattled on about Lindbergh's flight.
Steve was confused about how they could be bored by such an incredible and thrilling story. A man, alone, travelling across a great ocean for over 33 hours with only his wits to aid him, on a journey that had killed or destroyed so many others before him. Then again, those same children also used technologies that still amazed Steve on a daily basis. Even now, half of them were looking at cell phones, texting each other and streaming video when the teacher wasn't looking, and that seemed to bore them too. Steve knew he would never understand it. Where was the sense of awe, the sense of excitement at being a part of such an incredible and advanced technological age?
Steve had been nine years old when Lindergh had returned to America a hero following his journey to Paris. He could remember the exact date - June 11th - because it was declared Charles Lindbergh Day by the President. For once, Steve hadn't been ill, but his mother had been. He hadn't known at the time that she would never recover.
Despite the fact that she was weak and couldn't stop coughing, she had still found the energy to get out of bed that day and head with him over to their neighbor Mr. Rosetti's apartment. Mr. Rosetti's was the only apartment in their building that had a radio, and so everyone in the building was there. There had to have been 100 people all trying to listen, crammed into the hallways and rooms. The radio was as loud as it could go, and despite the number of people you could have heard a pin drop. The excitement reverberated in the air.
The announcer was enthusiastic. He described the enormity of the scene he was witnessing in exuberant, joyful words - the girls swooning in the streets, the politicians all clamoring for a glimpse of the most famous man in the world, details of the famous plane that helped the young pilot accomplish his epic flight, and the man himself, handsome and in the prime of his life. Then, they had all listened as President Coolidge had given a short speech that could barely be heard over the cries and shouts of the hundreds of thousands of people who'd gathered in Washington for the event. Finally, the man of the hour spoke.
His mother had cried. Tears of joy, she'd said. She was so happy that something so amazing had been accomplished for America, and that "Lucky Lindy" had survived and made it home. She told Steve that technology and science were amazing and that she knew they meant that someday scientists would find a way to make Steve healthy so that he would be able to do anything he wanted. Lindbergh's flight was just more proof that they lived in an age of wonders. And then Steve wept too, because Lindbergh had made his mother so very happy. And Steve vowed that someday he would be healthy. And then he would do something as amazing and heroic as Charles Lindbergh. Someday he would make his mother shed tears of pride and joy too.
Two days later, on June 13th, Steve's mother had been too ill to leave her bed, but she'd told Steve that she didn't want to hold him back from the excitement. The newspapers and everyone on the streets had been talking about Lindbergh non-stop for the last two days. Every detail of his journey had been dissected and relayed , and now he was visiting New York City. Steve promised to share everything he saw with his mother, and headed out into the throngs of people lining the streets to welcome their hero home. As he made his way towards the parade route, he had never seen the streets so packed. He'd watched the parade, and at some points been practically been swept away by the crowd, and he'd returned home covered in confetti and rice. He hadn't even seen Lindbergh but it hadn't mattered. His mother had been so pleased to hear about his day, and Steve had his inspiration, a man to look up to and emulate. From that moment on, Steve Rogers wanted to be a hero.
Of course, those dreams had been dashed very quickly. His mother had passed away later that year, and the nuns in the orphanage weren't exactly fans of Steve's heroic fantasies. But then, they hardly expected him to live much longer, he was so very frail and ill. Certainly, he would never be healthy enough to do anything that important. Bucky had listened, though. He had loved Lindbergh too. He would tell Steve his own story about being at the parade, and how he had actually gotten a glimpse of the man as his car had driven by because his father had lifted him up onto his shoulders to see. How his hero had waved at him, and Bucky knew that he too would someday do something amazing.
When Steve had become Captain America, he had fulfilled part of a lifelong dream. Science and technology had made him healthy, just as his mother had promised. In 1942 he'd stood on this same spot a new man and he'd looked up at the Spirit of St. Louis on display then, and he'd cried the tears of joy that his mother wasn't around to cry for him. He'd thought about Stark and his flying car, and the things he'd seen and experienced, and he'd been certain that it really was an age of wonder, just like he'd been told. The future seemed thrilling and full of promise in spite of the war going on overseas. He had known that no matter what, he was doing something amazing and he still had more to give. He had been certain.
Now, everything was uncertain again. As Steve looked up at the plane that had inspired him so very much for so much of his life, he wondered whatever happened to that optimistic, bold young man who had believed in the power of science, technology and a bright, shining future on the horizon. Did anyone even think like that anymore? Did anything inspire those kids with their cell phones as much as this plane had inspired him, once? Where was the wonder? Where was the joy?
As he contemplated this new age, he felt a gentle tug on his jacket and looked down to find a small girl, one of the ones who had been running around earlier, attempting to get his attention. She pointed to the Captain America action figure in her other hand and held it up at him, a shy grin on her face. 'Ah', he thought, crouching down to the girl's height so he could look her in the eyes and shake her hand. 'There it is'.