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SADAKO'S SHADOW

I was relieved when we finally adjourned from our meetings in the late afternoon. Our Japanese hosts had been wonderful, but the hot October sun was unbearable in my dark blue suit. As wearisome as I felt, however, there was one place I had see before leaving Hiroshima; that place where the world was forever changed at 8:16:02 a.m. on the morning of August 6, 1945.

I will never forget the surreal feelings that I had as I walked reverently through the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park that fall afternoon. I saw before me a multitude of people, yet I felt alone; like I was the only traveler on a vast ocean of empty emotions. For the first time in my life, I felt conspicuous as an American though I shan't say that the feelings came from the Japanese. I was standing out in a crowd of survivors, descendants and countrymen that at one time had been the enemy of America. The hateful epithets of my father's generation echoed in my mind, yet it was hard to imagine that this people could earn the enmity of my beloved native land; but they had.
I gradually realized that the self-conscious emotions I was feeling came from within. As much as I had been enculturized to believe that the Japanese earned our hatred in World War II, now I couldn't help but question its wisdom and rationale of the bombing.
I had come to the park curious to see the A-bomb Dome, which had once been the Hiroshima Industrial Hall before the hypo-center of the blast shattered its brick walls and twisted its steel beams. To me, it was the indecorous symbol of Japan's ultimate defeat in World War II. When I finally glimpsed the ruin across the river through the cherry trees, I understood why the Japanese took up a collection to save the ruin from further deterioration and collapse. I surmised from the aura surrounding the park, the Japanese people abhorred war, and the dome represented the notion that never again should mankind ever resort to armed conflict to resolve differences.
I was humbled. As I wandered aimlessly about, I came upon a statue of a young girl holding what appeared to be a crane above her. What struck me was the number of children around the statue, and what struck me even more was the number of brightly colored paper chains piled up around the statue. Even with the large number of children, it was still relatively quiet.
Curious, I stood there, hoping to get some idea of what all this was about. Some of the children stood sublimely in a lined formation, and a young boy

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