September 11 – “Where were you?”

I just read in the newspaper that the official designation for today is now Patriot’s Day.  I’m not sure how that actually matches up with the memory of the terrorist attack on September 11, 2001, but I have no problem going with it.  I guess it has something to do with the surge of patriotism that occurred after the attack.  There was certainly such an outpouring around here.  It definitely became one of those “defining moment” kinds of events that will be part of history classes and coffee klatches for years to come.  You know, like, “Where were you when John F. Kennedy was shot?”  Or for Galvestonians, “Which was worse, the 1900 Storm, Hurricane Carla, or Hurricane Ike?”  Where were you when you heard about the attack?

I was at home.  I had just stepped outside to retrieve the newspaper when Mr. Glinski, our neighbor across the street, came over with a grim look on his face and his ever-present cigarette hanging from his mouth.  Now Al always had a grim look on his face, so that wasn’t necessarily a clue to anything unusual.  It’s what made him good at telling jokes, and he was always telling jokes.  Some were pretty funny.  Others not so much, but it never stopped him.  So when he came across the street and asked if I had seen the news, I wasn’t sure if it was the beginning of another Al joke or if he was serious.  I told him I had just picked up the paper, so I hadn’t had time to read it yet.  Without batting an eye he replied, “It won’t be in the paper.  It just happened.  You have to go inside and turn on the television.  Right now.”  Well, that was a sense of urgency I didn’t remember ever hearing from him.  I asked him what channel.  His deadpan reply?  “All of them.”   And now he had my attention.  I thanked him and headed inside, my curiosity now really inflamed.  I called out to Chris to turn on the TV, and there it was.  One of the World Trade Tower buildings in New York was burning.  Stunned, fascinated, and still more than a little bit confused, we moved in closer and began to piece together from the ongoing commentary just what had happened.  We got that an airplane had hit the tower, but at that point no one knew for sure what any of the details were.  The image had been on our screen for just a minute or two when the second plane came into view and smashed into the other tower, bursting into flames.  And then news of another plane hitting the Pentagon.  And another going down in a field somewhere in Pennsylvania. 

And then the speculation began.  The second plane immediately changed the game from a possible horrible accident to a probable act of terrorism.  Here on American soil.  The others expanded the scope of the horror.  Would there be another one in Houston?  That’s a big city.  Or maybe even Texas City.  There are all those plants there.  It would be a great target.  And if so, how would that affect the Island? 

I can’t even begin to tell you all of the thoughts that raced through our heads.  I remember the first thing, though, that popped into my thoughts and continued to nag at me throughout the whole ordeal.  In 2001 our three sons were 24, 20, and 16 years old.  I had flashbacks to my high school years, back in the era of the Viet Nam War, of the draft, and of the uncertainty and fear surrounding the drawing of those draft lottery numbers.  And now two of my own sons were of prime draft age, and the third was close behind.  Viet Nam had lasted what seemed like forever, so there would be a good chance for all of them to have to face that same fate if we ended up at war because of these attacks.  I know.  It was irrational at the time, way too early in the event to even consider such things.  My own advice to others did its best to crack through the fog in my head, “Don’t make it a problem until it becomes a problem.”  But it is so hard to hear and heed good advice when you are in the middle of a situation that is so intensely personal. 

Along with the rest of the country we were glued to the television set for the next few days.  The lump in my throat rose more than once, first when it became evident that so many had died, then again and again when the sacrifices of the first responders were showcased, and then yet again when the personal stories of the victims began to be told.  Each one had a family and friends that would be affected.  The political posturing began.   This was too well planned to be random.  Who would step up and claim responsibility?  The president vowed reprisals.  “We will hunt you down …” 

Whew.  Talk about a country in turmoil.  But then, wasn’t that part of why the act happened in the first place, to strike fear into the hearts of Americans?  Did it work?  Honestly, yes.  We were afraid.  But did it have the long-term effect of crippling us with that fear?  Not so much.  Didn’t work at Pearl Harbor, either.  Americans are weird like that. 

Psalms 111:2 says, “Great are the works of the Lord; they are pondered by all who delight in them.”

Father, help us to keep our pondering centered on you in spite of the rampant acts of mayhem around us.  It’s truly our only hope for peace.  Amen.