Friday, September 10, 2010
Being that I'm sleep deprived you may want to stop right here and that is okay. I won't bore you any longer. The below memory is my tribute of what I took from 9/11. I hope it makes sense and if you are choosing to leave here let me wish you a fun, wonderful, football filled (if so inclined) weekend. If you are continuing, well...
WHERE WERE YOU?
I recall a glorious, beautiful fall day driving to work. One of those special Kentucky mornings where the dew glistens like jewels on horse farm fields, fall colors paint gorgeous arrays of earth tone abstracts and the sky? The sky so clear blue you got lost in it, who knew?
Who knew that the glorious morn was to be an omen of ominous things to come? Looking back now, that vivid drive to work still haunts me; like the red sky at sea, the one a sailor pays such heed to. The omen of the morn is not what causes pause, but rather the reality of a generation. How old are your children?
You see I have a sister 20 years my younger and sometime during the unfolding tragedy of that day she phoned. It was a call that has always weighed heavy on my mind and heart. The voice of another generation facing what now, was a historical tragedy the same as Pearl Harbor or Vietnam was to those preceding them.
That day, when I answered my phone all I remember hearing was true, heart stopping panic. “They have fallen, fallen down, what is happening?” This is what was being screamed at me. Even though I had witnessed on television what was transpiring; I, myself was a little confused. “I’m scared, I’m home alone, what should I do?” The questioning screams just kept coming.
I remember trying to explain in a calming voice it would be all right. “Turn off the television,” I recommended. “Do you want me to come home?” I asked. Trying to believe no terrorist would be selecting her little patch of earth. Was I certain? No, were any of us? Still the panic and fear of her voice rang in my ears. In a sobbing voice, “No, I will be alright,” was all I heard.
In a single phone call my eyes had been opened. Opened to our newest generation. I realized at that moment studying history is much easier than living it. They now have only the trauma of that September morn to judge the severity of national tragedies. A generation with no Presidential assignations, no Cuba missile crisis, no protested wars, a generation where the color of your skin did not matter and they were not old enough to fathom the Challenger disaster. My phone call had said it all.
It told me much more was lost that September morn. I still carry the empathy and sorrow for those who have fallen. I still admire and applaud those who sacrificed with little self-regard. I still respect those who hound us with horrible imagines so less we not forget. However, the one feelings I cannot shake….
The feelings of that silent tear slowly rolling down my cheek. A tear I cry for the innocence of an entire generation that was lost. I must ask, for what? What was the lesson here?