ten years

I've been debating lately... as we all know, today's the tenth anniversary of 9/11.  How publicly do you acknowledge this?  What is authentic and when does it turn into "everyone else is doing it," or "proving I have grief too," or "will people think less of me if I do - or if I don't? - say anything?"  Will people think I'm brushing it off if I don't say anything?  Will people, on the other hand, roll their eyes that yet another person is remembering exactly where they were when it happened?

I'm gonna tell.  This is a blog, after all, and blogs are for telling.

Here's my take on it.  It's my "party piece," as it were.  You know, the little ditty you always have on hand, in case someone turns to you and you're expected to come out with something entertaining.  A poem, a joke - something that'll always be around for public performances.

I do feel that I'm doing this unnecessarily - it doesn't need to be said; others' stories are more poignant, touching, or relevant - but this is my blog, and people can choose whether or not to stay tuned.  So I freely admit I'm indulging myself, for which I ask forgiveness.

I was Back East with my mother visiting colleges on Labor Day weekend, 2001.  We spent some time in New York City.  It was the beginning of my junior year.

I was in a bad mood.  I don't remember why. 

My mom said to me, "Look up: you can see the World Trade Center."

I said to myself, "What's another building?  That's not special.  I'll appreciate it next time.  I am too annoyed to look up now."  I didn't take the time to look.

That night, I bought a t-shirt embroidered with the tragedy/comedy masks, underscored by the word BROADWAY.

A couple of days later, I wore that shirt to school.  In the parking lot I ran into my best friend.  His greeting was, "I'm glad we're not in New York right now."

He told me he'd been listening to NPR and had heard that a plane had flown into one of the towers.  I was shocked, but didn't know what we could do.  Our first class started: English.

The whole room was abuzz with people talking about it.  A few minutes into class time, our principal, Mr. Castagna, made an announcement over the PA about it.  He was so audibly shaken, I realized - this is a huge deal.  Most classes moved into classrooms that had TVs.  As we sat in the psychology classroom, we watched the second plane hit.

I moved around in a state of shock that day, but what stayed with me was this:

Last weekend I had my last chance to see those towers, and in my self-righteous anger I missed it.  By taking for granted that something would always be there, I lost my last opportunity to appreciate it and all it stood for.

The lesson I try to remember, this and absolutely every day, is not to wait to do anything, see anything, experience anything.  You really never know when it'll be gone forever.

My life didn't change that day, not in the foundation-shaking way that the lives of many did.  I disagreed with going to war in Iraq and I wondered how Gore would have dealt with it.  I overheard my brother watching a conspiracy-theory video on YouTube.  I complied with the new airplane security regulations.  School continued; the world continued.

But I never wore that Broadway t-shirt again.

With love, respect, and solemn memorial of those lost to the attacks and their extended, destructive aftermath; and with prayers for peace.