(MONEY Magazine) – When I was in fourth grade, my class learned about the Constitution. You remember: checks and balances, the Elastic Clause, blah-blah-blah. I had more important things to ponder, like whether to spend my milk money on a Snickers bar.

Okay, so I was shallow, even for a 10-year-old. But seriously, how can any grade school kid be expected to wrap his or her head around something as profound as the Constitution? I've come to believe that we're better off relearning American history as adults, when we're better equipped to appreciate it. That's particularly true these days of the Constitution, as post-9/11 counterterrorism measures like the controversial Patriot Act have spotlighted the delicate balance between security and liberty. How timely, then, that two Constitution-based attractions--one new, the other newly renovated--have just opened.

Let's begin at the National Constitution Center (525 Arch St., Philadelphia; 215-409-6600; constitutioncenter.org), which opened July 4, 2003. It's the first museum devoted exclusively to our national charter, complete with a huge facsimile of the Constitution's preamble emblazoned on its entry ("We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union..."). While the place occasionally feels like Civics 101, for the most part it's loaded with modern twists and interactive surprises.

A visit begins with a short multimedia presentation that explains the events leading to the Constitution's drafting and ratification. This show, which is hokey but does a good job of providing context for what follows, lets out into a large circular gallery. Around the outer wall is a series of interpretive displays that form an illustrated timeline, documenting important junctures in constitutional history, such as Lincoln's signing of the Emancipation Proclamation and F.D.R.'s failed attempt to pack the Supreme Court. Touchscreen displays let you test your voting eligibility at given moments in time ("Are you white?... Are you a male?... Do you own property?"), with a buzzer sounding and a big red DENIED flashing on the screen if you fail one of the standards--a potent reminder that voting rights were once far more restricted than they are today.

The main space, meanwhile, features a sequence of clever interactive stations, beginning with a touchscreen offering capsule profiles of 100 key historical figures--Supreme Court justices, mavericks in the fights for women's suffrage, Prohibition, Native American and Hawaiian rights, and so on. Once you get started, it becomes addictive--I spent nearly an hour at this exhibit alone (yes, that shallow 10-year-old is now a grown-up geek).

The participation factor gets stronger as you go along. An ingenious blue-screen station, similar to what TV meteorologists use, lets you take the presidential oath of office in front of a full inaugural gallery, as administered by a videotaped justice. You can discuss hot-button issues in a moderated "dialogue area" (regulating Internet content was the topic the day I visited) and can even sign a copy of the Constitution, just as the founding fathers did. Or, if the Constitution isn't to your liking, you can sign a dissent, reinforcing yet another aspect of our open society.

About the only thing the museum doesn't have is the actual Constitution itself. Surprisingly, the original parchment document was filed away at the State Department, out of public view, until 1921, when it was moved to the Library of Congress and displayed for the first time. It was transferred again in 1952, this time to the National Archives (Constitution Ave. between Seventh and Ninth Sts.; 202-501-5000; archives.gov), where it was exhibited until 2001, when the main rotunda was closed for renovations. With the work completed, the rotunda reopened Sept. 17, exactly 216 years after the Constitution was signed in Philadelphia.

During the renovations, the Constitution was removed from the lead-sealed frame where it had spent the previous 50 years. Wrinkles and creases were smoothed out; insect nibbles were repaired; loose flakes of ink were reattached with tiny droplets of adhesive no larger than the period at the end of this sentence. The Constitution's four pages--along with the Declaration of Independence and the Bill of Rights, collectively known as the Charters of Freedom--were then placed in high-tech, climate-controlled encasements.

I visited the Archives about a week after it reopened. It's a pilgrimage I recommend to everyone. Just as reading about the Oregon Trail is nothing compared with seeing actual wagon-wheel ruts along the route, no history lesson (or travel article) can capture the power of seeing--reading--our country's founding documents up close. I'm happy to report that the Constitution is in remarkably good shape, its calligraphy still crisp and legible. Whether the Constitution's guiding principles are currently being preserved as well as the physical document itself is debatable. But debate, as they say, is a sign of a healthy democracy. Just one more thing I can better appreciate now than I could as a fourth-grader.

Paul Lukas can still sing the Schoolhouse Rock version of the Constitution's preamble.