Thirteen years ago today, some bad people attacked the United States. I want to say it like that, so it makes the most important point: The people who died that day didn't wake up to go into battle; they were not soldiers; they were just people. Whatever else we say--and I may well say things people won't like--this cannot be evaded. A just war not only has a just cause; it's conducted with just means, against warriors; that is, people who know they are in a war. Our friends, family, and fellow citizens were taken from us most unjustly, and though we may cry out in pain to Almighty God asking, "Why?" we also know that people chose to do it, and they had no right. I don't want to read the stories anymore; there is too much emotion even for me, and I didn't lose anyone close.
It was 10:30 AM when I found out. I was brushing my teeth. A guy ran in to say that some terrorists attacked the World Trade Center, and that possibly 50,000 people had been killed. That was a huge number. I intend to say this without disrespect to the loss that was suffered, but I felt relief that day that 50,000 wasn't the true toll. In any case, I knew our lives had changed.
It seemed like government officials pieced it together pretty quickly after the fact, and this still bothers me. We heard bin Laden's name all over the news that first day. Somebody messed up.
I didn't watch a ton of news coverage; even when it's good, it's annoying. I had things to do, besides. I saw my friend Liz Stover (now Garber) on the street. It was probably the oddest conversation of my life. What's going on here? we seemed to say. It's the kind of bewilderment that comes when you've been overloaded, but words still come out. Maybe I'm the only one who talks whether he's confused or not.
I went to class, actually. It was aptly titled, "Politics and War." A guy from the Middle East said we had it coming. First day. No preface, no sadness. How he remains alive, and I am not in prison is one of life's mysteries of mercy.
I studied political science, with an almost-minor in religious studies. The blog makes sense now, doesn't it? So, in fairness, I am the sort of person who thinks what the president says on any important topic is noteworthy, but we needed to hear from him, and we did.
I wish I could describe the feeling of that day. There was a numbness, but it wasn't alone. It was a numbness to ordinary routines. The rest of it came like waves; every conceivable emotion, without warning. I wasn't even connected to the people that were lost; imagine how family and friends must have felt!
President Bush was outstanding as a spokesman for us in those days. He hit all the right notes, and frankly, this is the real reason he didn't lose a few years hence. I can't even read his speech to the joint session of Congress on the 20th without getting choked up. There is room to be very critical of a great many things in his foreign policy, even. But you couldn't pay me to be personally critical of the man. Not going to happen.
I think if it's true to say that a fair amount of jingoism and fake patriotism came out of it, it's because it seemed removed from the sense of living through the days themselves. We could all probably mark a day when September 11 became a footnote, instead of an opportunity to reflect, make changes, and be thankful.
Country music takes a lot of flak from the intelligentsia for being the soundtrack for the uncritical unwashed masses, and there's some truth in that. Still, "Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning?" by Alan Jackson captures the whole thing perfectly. Mr. Jackson, you can write the soundtrack to my life any time, sir.
"And the greatest is love."
It was 10:30 AM when I found out. I was brushing my teeth. A guy ran in to say that some terrorists attacked the World Trade Center, and that possibly 50,000 people had been killed. That was a huge number. I intend to say this without disrespect to the loss that was suffered, but I felt relief that day that 50,000 wasn't the true toll. In any case, I knew our lives had changed.
It seemed like government officials pieced it together pretty quickly after the fact, and this still bothers me. We heard bin Laden's name all over the news that first day. Somebody messed up.
I didn't watch a ton of news coverage; even when it's good, it's annoying. I had things to do, besides. I saw my friend Liz Stover (now Garber) on the street. It was probably the oddest conversation of my life. What's going on here? we seemed to say. It's the kind of bewilderment that comes when you've been overloaded, but words still come out. Maybe I'm the only one who talks whether he's confused or not.
I went to class, actually. It was aptly titled, "Politics and War." A guy from the Middle East said we had it coming. First day. No preface, no sadness. How he remains alive, and I am not in prison is one of life's mysteries of mercy.
I studied political science, with an almost-minor in religious studies. The blog makes sense now, doesn't it? So, in fairness, I am the sort of person who thinks what the president says on any important topic is noteworthy, but we needed to hear from him, and we did.
I wish I could describe the feeling of that day. There was a numbness, but it wasn't alone. It was a numbness to ordinary routines. The rest of it came like waves; every conceivable emotion, without warning. I wasn't even connected to the people that were lost; imagine how family and friends must have felt!
President Bush was outstanding as a spokesman for us in those days. He hit all the right notes, and frankly, this is the real reason he didn't lose a few years hence. I can't even read his speech to the joint session of Congress on the 20th without getting choked up. There is room to be very critical of a great many things in his foreign policy, even. But you couldn't pay me to be personally critical of the man. Not going to happen.
I think if it's true to say that a fair amount of jingoism and fake patriotism came out of it, it's because it seemed removed from the sense of living through the days themselves. We could all probably mark a day when September 11 became a footnote, instead of an opportunity to reflect, make changes, and be thankful.
Country music takes a lot of flak from the intelligentsia for being the soundtrack for the uncritical unwashed masses, and there's some truth in that. Still, "Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning?" by Alan Jackson captures the whole thing perfectly. Mr. Jackson, you can write the soundtrack to my life any time, sir.
"And the greatest is love."
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