Every year, I make a small tribute to 9/11, and this year is no exception.
I also play Alan Jackson's "Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning)" a few times, and lately, I've been playing some Peter, Paul, and Mary songs since they were very big anti-war advocates. My dad liked them a lot, too.
Can't believe it's been 23 years since it happened. Can't believe something like this even happened to begin with. It will never cease to amaze me how far people will go to cause other people harm.
On the other hand, we mustn't forget the good that usually comes out of the bad. History should be preserved no matter how uncomfortable it makes us, if we have any hope in the world of never repeating it. The victims deserve to be remembered, and it remains truly inspiring and humbling how many of us pulled together, both then and now.
I think the 2002 Spider-Man movie sums up the fighting, tribal spirit of New York up nicely:
This isn't a tradition I'm necessarily happy about. But this time every year, I try to make some kind of visual tribute to that awful day, and of course, I play Alan Jackson's song, sometimes several times.
I may not remember all the details anymore, but I can tell you where I've been. I was 13, just barely entering eighth grade. First heard the story on the radio when Dad was chauffeuring me that morning. Dad often liked to listen to the news, even though I preferred music myself. The reporter's voice was very shaky; it wouldn't surprise me now if he had been crying for real. Being a young teen, I didn't really give it that much thought, though I was genuinely stunned to hear about four planes crashing on the same day. My thoughts ran along the lines of, "Wow, what a horrible accident."
It wasn't until much later, when I heard more about it and I saw the footage with my own eyes at home (that was all they talked about on every single news station, all day long), that it really hit me how bad this was. This was no accident.
The next few days, weeks, and months can only be described as an emotional mess. At least twice, I broke down crying at school. Mom told me the terrorists wanted us to be scared (hence their name) and I could only think, "Well, they're sure doing a good job!"
To this day, it still sickens me that anyone could do something like this on purpose. Only God can judge, but the way certain people are taught to hate this much, how thoroughly they can be brainwashed, how few qualms they harbor about causing this kind of harm, is horrifying.
I can only imagine what Pearl Harbor was like, or the Holocaust, among many others.
Back when I was a child,
Before life removed all the innocence,
My father would lift me high
And dance with my mother and me and then
Spin me around till I fell asleep
Then up the stairs he would carry me
And I knew for sure I was loved
If I could get another chance
Another walk
Another dance with him
I'd play a song that would never, ever end
How I'd love, love, love
To dance with my father again
Oooh...
When I and my mother would disagree,
To get my way I would run from her to him
He'd make me laugh just to comfort me, yeah, yeah
Then finally make me do just what my mama said
Later that night, when I was asleep,
He left a dollar under my sheet
Never dreamed that he
Would be gone from me
If I could steal one final glance
One final step
One final dance with him
I'd play a song that would never, ever end
'Cause I'd love, love, love
To dance with my father again
Sometimes I'd listen outside her door
And I'd hear how my mother cried for him
I pray for her even more than me
I pray for her even more than me...
I know I'm praying for much too much
But could you send back the only man she loved?
I know you don't do it usually
But dear Lord, she's dying
To dance with my father again
Every night I fall asleep
And this is all I ever dream
"Dance With My Father" ~ Luther Vandross
Just as this year marks 20 years since 9/11...
...so too does it mark 80 years since Pearl Harbor. Terrifying and devastating sort of pattern.
To modify that well-known phrase from Peter, Paul, and Mary, "Oh, when will we ever learn?"
Today marks the day that we made the extremely difficult (moral, but difficult regardless) decision to have Butterscotch euthanized.
We had our ups and downs, as anyone would with a cat or any other sort of pet. We loved him...but we also loved him too much to let him suffer. I felt exactly like Travis in Old Yeller when his trembling finger is poised on the trigger.
And the sad, brief words of Sulley from Monsters, Inc. become all the more meaningful: "Kitty has to go."
I always make a little memorial collage for September 11, and here's the one I made for the two-decade mark. Hard to believe it's been that long and what's come about since that day.
Of course, I can recall precious few details anymore...but I can tell you where I was, how I first heard about it, and how I felt.
I was 13, on my way to school with my dad, and Dad often liked to listen to the news on the radio. I preferred music myself, but anyway, it was through the radio that both he and I first heard the big bad news. The reporter's voice was extremely quivery, like he was struggling (and failing) not to cry. Being just a kid, I was naturally stunned to hear about four plane crashes in one day but I didn't give it too much thought at the time. I have no way of knowing how Dad felt but he didn't say much; he just dropped me off at the main entrance and drove off to work like usual.
At school, said crashes were pretty much all everybody talked about, students and teachers alike. Even my strict teachers were pretty subdued and schoolwork was lighter than normal. We didn't even have homework, which would have been a kid's dream come true under normal circumstances.
During a quick trip to the library, I caught a glimpse of the story on TV and I was taken a little aback at the terrible footage. That's when I thought, "Wow, this must be more serious than I thought."
When I got home, Mom had the TV on (this was back in the days when we had cable) and you guessed it: it was on the news channel and it was the only story they talked about all evening.
That was when it finally hit me how bad this really was.
The next few weeks were a nightmare, a real melting pot of sadness, confusion, and fear. I broke down crying more than once, but everybody who saw me was nothing but sympathetic.
To this day, I still have a hard time stomaching that footage. It still goes to my heart to imagine what that must have been like for everyone. I was fortunate enough not to lose anyone in those attacks, but I was plenty affected in my own way.
The worst part of it all is that it was no accident. Terrorists really do live up to the word "terror" in their name.
And so here we are, two decades later, and I repeat the question in the image: what has changed since?
A very happy birthday to my mom, Carolyn Dahl Mather. Hope you had a great day, Mom. We all love you and appreciate you more than words can ...
