Five Thousand Years, Same Old Problems: A Long Road to Athens

Athens. The Acropolis is painted in the morning sun. Giant marble pillars, slightly swollen in the center, tall and broad, upholding over two thousand years of the human story. And I really have to pee.

Sadly, I cannot find the toilets. And even if I could, I doubt they’d be available since this tourist attraction is slammed today. There are thousands of people, all wandering through the ancient city. Every language is spoken here. Every color. Every creed. Every political persuasion.

I’ll bet the line to the men’s room is nine miles long.

Still, it’s hard not to find reverence while in a place like this. A place that helped shape so much of the world I know.

Long before this place was a sacred hilltop, human beings lived here about five thousand years ago. And you can’t help but wonder how much we’ve changed over the past fifty centuries. Or have we changed at all?

Yes and no, I’m guessing.

For starters we’re taller than we used to be. The average height of a male back then was much smaller.

I have also heard that we have less hair today. Maybe this was for warmth. Maybe because hair was considered sexy. And as a man with enough body hair to furnish a small llama, I choose to believe the latter.

But humankind still has wars. We still harm ourselves. We still hurt our neighbors. We still steal. We still use religion as a reason to kill other humans. And if not kill them, at the very least, damn them to hell. We still love music, art, and verse. We still talk to babies in high-pitched voices. We still get excited about seeing the sunrise. We still eat ham.

Lying in the archaeological area near the Parthenon, I see marble basins, hollowed out. The basins could be five hundred years older than Christianity.

“What are those?” I ask a nearby tour guide.

She smiles. “Probably flower pots,” she says.

Flower pots.

This humbles me. It’s comforting to think that men and women were planting chrysanthemums in ancient civilizations.

Just like they were still telling stories. Early humans were big storytellers. Huge story lovers.

Granted, their stories were a little different than ours. The plots were hard to follow. And all the main characters were either not wearing underpants, half-animal, or both. But nevertheless, their tales were about the same things ours are about.

Good versus evil. God reaching out to man. Epic adventures. Defeating the beast. Love stories. Triumph over darkness. Love wins. And they lived happily ever after.

And as old as we’ve gotten. As aware as we are. As enlightened as we claim to be. We still tell the same stories.

We still tell our children the same tales. We still embrace the same morals. Even if we aren’t able to live up to them. Our fabled heroes still wear white. Our bad guys still twirl their mustaches and have maniacal laughs. We still cheer for the good guy and boo the villain.

And although we often forget to practice such virtues, we still honor them. We still respect givers. And Good Samaritans are still the subjects of our most viral social media threads.

We still aspire to patience, kindness, joy, peace, humility, compassion, self-sacrifice, and selflessness. And we still believe that there is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for a friend.

And as I watch throngs of people, all moseying through the ruins of an ancient temple; as I listen to each earthly language spoken, and enjoy the sounds of children laughing; I see Blacks and whites, I see people who could be Jews and Palestinians; Russians and Ukrainians; Americans and expatriates, and I realize something important. Something I almost forgot.

I really, really have to use the restroom.