One of the first art installations I remember ever seeing in D.C. was the sculpture, The Awakening.  We visited long before I moved here - I was a kid - and how my father knew to drive (or did we ride bicycles?) out to Hains Point and look at it is a mystery. But he did, we did, I have pictures of me sitting in that hand to prove it, but you might not believe me if I found them because that was mumblesomething years - and pounds - ago.


After I moved to D.C., I returned to visit him often.  I saw him waking up in the Spring, I saw him waking up in the snow, I saw him when Hains Point was under water and I had to wade over to the thumb.  

He is no longer at Hains Point. His bed has been moved to the National Harbor.  I dislike seeing him here, but he is still fodder for children and adults trying to take these oh, so iconic photos of him, and for those who try - and mostly fail - to climb up that giant arm reaching out toward the sky and back down.


And it makes me happy that generations of kids have enjoyed him.