This weekend, we honor America in light of 9-11. Until August 2011, the majority of my friends and all of my family were in DC. I wasn't in DC. I was in the middle of nowhere Utah.
I had been a VISTA for two weeks, in bet you can't find it on a map, Blanding Utah. My job was to work with the Edge of the Cedars State Park Museum to draw tourists to an incredible Museum in middle of nowhere. It was 8:30am, mountain time, and I was on my way to work. There's not much to choose from musically in the middle of nowhere Utah, but there is NPR.
A plane has crashed into one of the World Trade Towers the announcer said. I knew, immediately, this was not a horrible accident. 15 minutes later, another plane crashed into the 2nd Tower. I was right. I made it to work and broke down. Everyone was wondering, why? Who would do this? Then the third plane hit the Pentagon. That's when it got personal. My mother lives five miles away from the Pentagon. My son went to school five miles away from the Pentagon. Everyone you know in Northern Virginia commutes into DC and probably works at the Pentagon.
In times of great sorrow, being around people, especially those you love, helps. I was 2500 miles away from the people I most loved and couldn't reach any of them for hours. I stayed at work because I was near a phone and used it every five minutes it seemed. My mother was playing golf at the Army/Navy golf course and watched the plane as it headed into the Pentagon. My son, in private school, was in lockdown. A dear friend's husband was in DC working and couldn't get out of town.
I am blessed that I did not have any friends or family hurt or killed during the attacks. One of the VISTAs lost a friend in the World Trade Center.
Four of my VISTA friends lived together in a house not far from mine. They had a little bit of a 9" TV with antena and foil. We hugged and cried and tried to see what was going on through the static. One of them asked me if I was going to go back home. I said no. There was nothing I could do to help anyone. Everyone I held dear was safe. Safe and terrified as we all were, no matter where you were at the time.
My landlord had cable TV. All of us crowded into his bedroom for the next 4 days, rivited to the TV screen. Watching, again and again, people falling. People covered in ash. The planes hitting those buildings over and over. The enormous cloud that followed the 2nd Tower's destruction. I have always wished the media had paid more attention to Flight 93. Those people were heros. I pray everytime I board a plane, that should something happen, I'd be couragous enough to help do something about it.
On some weirdly odd level, it makes sense that if we were to be attacked, the Pentagon would be a likely target. And it was. Today, there is a memorial at the Pentagon with a sculpture that is hard to describe but does in fact capture the moment and the strength of our country.
As VISTAs, we wanted to do something. We had to do something. We thought starting a blood donation bank would be a great first step. There was no community support for our idea. Nothing like that will ever happen in bet you can't find it on a map Utah. I know ExxonMobil was concerned, because they had oil fields 50 miles away. No matter where you are, you cannot live in a cocoon.
I cannot get my brain around what it must have been like living in a war zone. Living so close to the Quantico Marine Base, and the Nation's Capital, I was used to seeing the big, ugly helicoptors , the convoys of military on the beltway, and watching the three helicoptors the President uses when he flies overhead. I cannot begin to imagine seeing surfact to air missles parked along the side of the beltway. I never imagined I would see armed military service people carrying AK-47's and using dogs as they patrtrolled the airport in Salt Lake City.
I have to hand it to President Bush during this horrible time in our history. When he stood on the mound of what was left of the World Trade Center with the Fire Chief and said we will find who did this, I was proud to be an American. When he addressed the country abou the attacks, I was proud to be an American.
In bet you can't find it on a map, Utah, everyone was talking about the attacks. Everyone was impacted by the horrible loss of that day. I worked for a 76 year old Morman cowboy, named Cleal Bradford. There is a love/hate relationship with Cleal amongst a lot of people, but I hold a special place in my heart for him. The main reason I hold him dear is what he did three days after the attack; the national day of mourning.
Cleal suggested Kelly and I go with him to a little known natural bridge formation, not far from the place we worked. We hiked for about 1/2 an hour, and there it was. Nothing dramatic like you would see
at Bridges National Park, but a natural bridge in the making. If you didn't know it was there, you would probably miss it. We sat on rocks or in the dirt, and Cleal suggested we each say something about how we feel about the tragedy of 9-11. I don't remember specifically what was said by Kelly or myself, however I do remember Cleal, at 76 years of age, dropping to his knees in the dirt, and praying. That moment, when it was just the three of us and the desert, was perfect. We cried. We sat in silence. We were together, each of us mourning and praying in our own way to whatever God we believed in.
I have always been a student of history. Since 9-11, I have read nearly everything I can get my hands on regarding the Taliban, Central Asia, the Middle East, and our own country's history and current actions with the region. I want to understand why 9-11 happened. I want to understand the cultures our country must understand before anything can become better, or whatever normal looks like. Americans cannot change the world in our image. A large portion of the world hates us. A decade after 9-11, I still don't understand why we are hated. As a VISTA, I worked with seperate tribes that have a history of hating each other. They don't kill each other anymore, unless there is alcohol involved.
When my friends husband finally was able to get out of DC, he was in shock. I called to check on them and he told me there should be a "test" to "prove" you are a good American. A test? I asked him. What sort of questions should be on this test? He answered you have to know American football teams and some other things of equal importance to being a "true" American. I told him I wouldn't pass the test because what do I know from football? Does that mean I'm a terrorist and not a true American? He couldn't answer that one, but he was obviously in shock about what he had experienced.
One of my firmest wishes is that we do not take for granted the fact that this country, our country, is made up of diversity. Jews, Catholics, Muslims, black, red, and brown. America cannot expect our system of democracy and open government to work in Central Asia, the Middle East, or Sweden for that matter. The root of the problem is lack of education and infrastructure, not working behind the scenes electing a "President" of a country which has never experienced democracy in generations or a lifetime.
As a VISTA, I was working with people with real issues. Individual people, or families. In my humble opinion, 9-11 opened our eyes to our vulnerablities. We are not vulnerable and I will not live in fear that I don't have enoug duct tape or canned goods to survive. If I do feel that way, the terrorists have won and will continue to win by breaking us down.
No one breaks America. God bless us all and God bless those who gave so much during that terrible time.
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