Peace on Earth
I watched September 11th unfold at work. I was hard at it, when someone came in and said they'd just heard on the radio that a plane had hit some building in New York City. Many of us walked from the corporate office to the showroom floor and watched the events unfold on Good Morning America. To this day, my strongest memory is thinking to myself, how in the hell do you put out a fire in a building that tall. Then, the second plane hit, and all hell broke loose.
Later that afternoon My Lovely Bride and I went to her routine pregnancy check-up. We sat there, shell shock, waiting for the doctor, in a medical office in the hospital that seemed eerily quiet and empty.
That night I sat up and watched TV, trying to find something besides the repeated footage of the planes hitting and collapse. Trying to not think of what a fucked up world we were bringing the baby who would become Boy #1 into. I finally found HBO which was showing some spare movie. At around 1am, however, the movie ended and HBO literally went off the air. Like many stations that night. It was the first (and I bet last) time I had seen a TV station or channel do that since I was a kid in Oklahoma. It was (and still is) a trip to me. I remember the silence. Dead of night. Me and my thoughts. And fear.
I didn't lose anyone I knew personally in 9.11. So these are my memories. Ones I shared to a degree with a group of Youth at Church on the tenth anniversary of September 11. It also happened to be the six anniversary of the first time My Lovely Bride and I visited that church.
The oldest of the Youth were only in 2nd grade when 9.11 happened. Their stories centered around being in class and learning of it from the scared teachers. One kid's Dad came up to be with her, and even though he didn't tell her why, until much later, she knew something at a gut level was wrong because he was there. The youngest of the Youth were only 2 at the time and have no solid memory of the event. What they know is only what they've learned from their parents, in school, or from the media. Many commented that only recently had they seen actual footage, since I guess, the media had self imposed guidelines for showing it out or respect. Leading up to the ten anniversary however, that was lifted, and the media in my humble opinion, succumbed to their disaster porn for ratings aspect of the news which I loathe.
What did we learn from 9.11? That was one of the guide questions. What does it teach us about forgiveness and tolerance was another. Where was God. Another. Deep questions for Youth. And probably, in all honesty, an even deeper question for an old fucker like myself.
At the end of the program the Youth Director led us to the sanctuary where she had ribbon and pens laid out on a table. She asked the Youth and us Adult Counselors to write our prayers of hope on said ribbons. Then when we were done, we placed them on a wooden Cross near where the Pastors preach each week.
I wrote my prayer. In black sharpie. On a pink with polka-dots, ribbon.
9.11 pisses me off. And still makes me want to strike back. Which I shared with the kids. I'm many things. But always honest. Like I told them. Anger is easy. The love and forgiveness is the hard part.
Do unto others, indeed.
Until I BLOG again...But hope and history won't rhyme.
Later that afternoon My Lovely Bride and I went to her routine pregnancy check-up. We sat there, shell shock, waiting for the doctor, in a medical office in the hospital that seemed eerily quiet and empty.
That night I sat up and watched TV, trying to find something besides the repeated footage of the planes hitting and collapse. Trying to not think of what a fucked up world we were bringing the baby who would become Boy #1 into. I finally found HBO which was showing some spare movie. At around 1am, however, the movie ended and HBO literally went off the air. Like many stations that night. It was the first (and I bet last) time I had seen a TV station or channel do that since I was a kid in Oklahoma. It was (and still is) a trip to me. I remember the silence. Dead of night. Me and my thoughts. And fear.
I didn't lose anyone I knew personally in 9.11. So these are my memories. Ones I shared to a degree with a group of Youth at Church on the tenth anniversary of September 11. It also happened to be the six anniversary of the first time My Lovely Bride and I visited that church.
The oldest of the Youth were only in 2nd grade when 9.11 happened. Their stories centered around being in class and learning of it from the scared teachers. One kid's Dad came up to be with her, and even though he didn't tell her why, until much later, she knew something at a gut level was wrong because he was there. The youngest of the Youth were only 2 at the time and have no solid memory of the event. What they know is only what they've learned from their parents, in school, or from the media. Many commented that only recently had they seen actual footage, since I guess, the media had self imposed guidelines for showing it out or respect. Leading up to the ten anniversary however, that was lifted, and the media in my humble opinion, succumbed to their disaster porn for ratings aspect of the news which I loathe.
What did we learn from 9.11? That was one of the guide questions. What does it teach us about forgiveness and tolerance was another. Where was God. Another. Deep questions for Youth. And probably, in all honesty, an even deeper question for an old fucker like myself.
At the end of the program the Youth Director led us to the sanctuary where she had ribbon and pens laid out on a table. She asked the Youth and us Adult Counselors to write our prayers of hope on said ribbons. Then when we were done, we placed them on a wooden Cross near where the Pastors preach each week.
I wrote my prayer. In black sharpie. On a pink with polka-dots, ribbon.
9.11 pisses me off. And still makes me want to strike back. Which I shared with the kids. I'm many things. But always honest. Like I told them. Anger is easy. The love and forgiveness is the hard part.
Do unto others, indeed.
Until I BLOG again...But hope and history won't rhyme.
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