Thoughts on Edward Kennedy

When I was twelve, my parents packed my brothers and myself up and took us to Martha's Vineyard, to spend two weeks on the island.

We stayed, as we always stayed during our visits, in the funky, catawampus home of my aunt and uncle, standing on a hill above Oak Bluffs. Slapped together from the partial remains of two smaller homes, you had to step down to get into two of the bedrooms, step up to move from the small living room into the larger dining room and kitchen. You could see the ocean and watch the activities in Oak Bluffs from the front porch. If you were feeling especially mischievous, you could spy on guests utilizing the outdoor shower from one of the bedrooms.

One day my dad decided to take a walk from Oak Bluffs to Edgartown Wharf, six miles away. I went with him, sporting a pair of shoes unsuitable for a six mile hike.

We walked along Seaview Avenue and Beach Road, through the state park, a salt pond on our left and the ocean on our right. It was a bright, beautiful day full of the sounds of the moving ocean, the screaming of the gulls and the scent of salt and wild roses.

As we entered Edgartown my father started talking about Senator Edward Kennedy and the incident on Chappaquiddick Island in 1969. He pointed out the island to me, told me where the pond was located, described how the car went into the pond on that night, how Kennedy swam to Edgartown. My father was very clear that he believed that Kennedy was responsible for Mary Jo Kopechne's death.

Imagine a man who had to bear witness to the mental illness and deterioration of a sister and the death of all three of his brothers, the first in war, the second and third publicly murdered, assassinated. Who barely survived a plane crash, who believed himself to be cursed like his brothers. On the night he drove that car into a pond he was drunk, he was driving, and he abandoned the scene of the accident.

My father left me with the impression of an Edward Kennedy who was an incredibly flawed human being in a lot of physical and emotional pain before the accident. Of a man who paid and repaid the consequences of every single bad decision he made on the night his car went over the bridge. He was an alcoholic, he was a womanizer, he destroyed his first marriage, he set a bad example for the younger men in his family.

I don't remember if we talked about forgiveness during that conversation. I like to think that I asked my father if Mary Jo Kopechene's family forgave him for causing her death, if my father forgave him for his mistakes. But my memory of 24 years ago is faulty, I'm not sure if my twelve year old self was that precocious. If my memory is correct, my father left me with the impression that it was not his role or my role to forgive Edward Kennedy for his myriad of sins. That was a job better left to the people he directly harmed and his god.

But out of that conversation was planted the idea that any individual could be terribly flawed, could make terrible mistakes and still find a way to redemption. This is the Edward Kennedy my father taught me to see, a man on a constant quest for redemption, who fought for the rights of those who did not have the privileges of his gender, his money, his stature or family name.

Rest In Peace Senator. My you be granted the redemption that you spent your lifetime seeking.