Again

You know what, I wrote this post because it was something important to me. I prefaced it with "Read or don't; to be honest, this one is for me". So, IF YOU DON'T LIKE WHAT I HAVE TO SAY, DON'T FUCKING READ IT. With that out of the way, I am returning my Sept. 11 post in its original form. Please read the entire thing before you jump to conclusions about me, my motivation, my intelligence or education. And if you read this and take away that I am still blaming an entire group of people for this, I direct you to the long, run-on laden sentence that begins the fifth paragraph. I have many faults, but being racist is NOT one of them, and you should thank whatever god you pray to that you did not say such a thing to my face.

"I wasn't going to post about that day, but I can't get it out of my mind. I want to move on, to forget and get on with my life, but somehow, every year, it's like picking a scab off a wound that won't heal. So, read or don't read- to be honest, this one is just for me.
Sept. 10, 2001- I decided I'm not going to school tomorrow. No real reason, not sick, no appointments, I just didn't want to go.

Sept. 11- The phone rang early. Joe was working nights, so he had just gotten to bed, and we were annoyed. It was my friend, B. "WHAT?" I snapped into the receiver. "Turn on your TV- we're being attacked" she very quietly stated, then the line went dead. I got up and flipped on CNN. It was moments after the second plane hit the towers, and I just stared in disbelief. Who would do this? I mean, I knew in an abstract way that our foreign policies had alienated us from much of the world, but this was not an attack on a military base- these were regular people: people like me. Joe yelled for me to turn down the TV, but I didn't move, I just stood in the middle of the room, tears flowing. He angrily stomped into the living room to turn it down, and froze in midstep. Later I would realize that this was the last time in our life together when we were really a couple. These events, and our reactions to them would drive a wedge between us that would turn our lives upside down.

We stood there, in the living room, both of us crying for an eternity. When the announcer said that the Pentagon had been hit, I crumpled to the floor, unable to support myself any longer. "If we aren't safe at the Pentagon, WHERE are we safe?" I asked noone in particular. We held each other for a few minutes, when Joe suddenly announced that he had to call his mom. She works in a military facility in the MidWest which would have much less security than the Pentagon. He would spend the next three hours trying to reach her. I spent them staring at the television, crying. How many children were there? How many people had lost their loved ones? How many families would be devastated by this? My mind raced, and my heart felt like someone had shoved an icepick directly into it and kept twisting. I couldn't begin to imagine the pain of watching your loved one's death scene played out on television. What about the couples who had argued that morning, never to be able to make up? Children whose last memory of Mom would be of her rushing them to get ready so she could get to her job at the Trade Center? How do humans endure such overwhelming sadness and pain?

As the hours played out across the screen, I never moved. Joe raced through the house, frantically trying to do things- reach his mother, find someplace to donate blood, anything to keep moving. I found out later that many people called families to tell them that they loved them- that never crossed my mind. I just stared, unable to comprehend the depths of hatred that could do this. The thing that angered me is that for a short period of time, this made me HATE. Not just the terrorists, but all Palestinians. I am not equipped with a strong hate response, and the fact that for a while I hated an entire group of people still makes me ashamed and damn mad. How fucking dare you take lives of people you didn't know? You did not strengthen your fucking cause, you stupid bastards, you made a nice, loving schoolteacher from the MidWest hate you and hate your children. Do you really think that making me hate you is the way to solve our differences? I have never said this and meant it in my life, but I HOPE EVERY ONE OF YOU MOTHERFUCKERS SPENDS ETERNITY BURNING IN THE PIT OF HELL, WHILE ABLE TO SEE THE BEAUTY OF THE LIVES THAT YOU DESTROYED. I hope your children see the fallacy of your actions and denounce you as the heretics you truly are.

I have since gotten past my anger toward all Palestinians. To remain angry and blame them would be the same as the hatred that caused people to crash airplanes into buildings that contained average people who had no voice in our nation's policies. Joe never recovered from his hatred and anger. He wanted a war to destroy an entire group of people. I can not rationalize dropping bombs on women and children who also have had no voice in their leader's policies.
One of my friends from India could not understand why Americans stayed so angry for so long; after all, terrorism is a fact of life for most people. I think part of it is our arrogance. We never expected anyone to have the balls to attack us at home. Part of it is our sense of fair play. We never expected average citizens to be targeted. Whatever the cause, I am still angry. However, I try to use that anger to educate my students about the effects of violence and the importance of solving problems with words and compromise. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, but I keep trying.
Today I will cry. I will cry for every life taken unfairly. I will cry for every person who lost someone they loved. I will cry for the sense of openness and freedom that we no longer enjoy. And I will cry for the hatred and blindness that drove our world so far out of its path. "