I Remember

In September of 2007, I took a few days off of work.  I was going to stay home with my three younger children while my wife, Nancy and our oldest daughter went out of town together.  The three days happened to be the 10th, 11th and 12th.

On the morning of September 11, 2007, still in my pajamas, I went out to the garage to pull out the flag.  I slowly unrolled it from around the pole and put it out for the day.  As I came back into the house I thought, "Six years today." 

With that single thought, the flood gate of memory was torn completely away.  Vivid thoughts of that morning rushed through my mind.  Intense feelings of fear and surprise soon gave way to the familiar anger, pain, sorrow and frustration I had felt then.  The overwhelming immensity of the whole thing, the rush of Patriotic Pride, the freshly minted brotherhood of a nation, and the frustration of a strong political stalemate.  Each emotion came, one after another as the pounding waves of memory washed over me.

Back in the house my children played together in the next room while I sat for few minutes and remembered.


My mom can tell you exactly what she was doing on the day she heard JFK had been shot.  She was a Junior in High School.  She can remember in full color detail what she was wearing, what class she was in, who was there with her.

Her own mother remembers a December afternoon in 1941 with the same clarity and vividness. 

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was at home in the backyard.  It was a Tuesday.  I had gotten up early to work on a playhouse for my children, a project that had consumed my evenings and mornings all summer.  The radio was on.

One of the strongest memories I have is of listening to the details of the morning unfold on the radio.  The first tower had been hit, then the second.  The Pentagon was next.  Then there was an airplane accident in Pennsylvania.  No one would say they were connected events, but it was so obvious that it made me angry.  The speculation, the bad information, the contradictory statements, the confusion.  It all made me more and more angry.  Finally, in a moment of childlike frustration, I yelled at the radio.  I wanted them to just shut up.  "Stop it," I yelled.  "Shut up!  Just shut up."

I kept wondering what was next.  How big was the attack?  How soon until the attacks covered the country?

Fighter jets kept flying over my normally quiet neighborhood and every time I would think, "Here we go."  It seems silly to me now, but I really thought the first four crashes, in fairly rapid succession, were just the beginning.  I thought the attacks would reach every major city and eventually even this small, out-of-the-way, city would be hit.

Of course this was not to be.  And I was naive to think such a huge nation-wide plan could be pulled off.

Naive.  A fitting word that perfectly described our beloved nation before that morning.  We had no idea of what was out there.  We thought we were untouchable - no, we were untouchable.  Who could hurt America?  And more than that, why would they want to?  But who cares if they want to hurt us, we thought, they can't touch us.  This is America.


I think it's good to remember these things.  I think as a nation we are forgetting too much too soon.  I think we need to talk about it more.  We need to feel it again.  We need to remember anew the pain and the pride and the anger and the unity we felt then.

So that morning, six years after September 11, home from work for a day with my children, outside of the rush of a typical week day, I sat, I remembered and I wrote.  I sent my thoughts to a few friends and, within an hour, many had responded with their own memories.  By the end of the day I had a good collection of memories from friends and acquaintances across the nation.

Since then I have asked many more to share their memories of that morning, that day, that month of September 2001.  Something about me asking them to share their ideas has opened that same flood gate for many other people.  Americans want to remember September 11, 2001.  And they want to share those memories with anyone who will listen. 

How about you? What are your strongest memories of September 11?  If you care to share, I would love to hear your thoughts and memories.  Please click the link to find a place to share your story.  Remembering September 11.

Clark

Feel the Fear

First I have to say this photo doesn't even remotely do this waterfall justice.  My daughter is about 40 feet above the pool at the bottom of the fall and about 50 feet away.  She's roughly at the same height as the big, red rock on the other side of the gorge. 

So the election thing didn’t work out quite like we had expected.  To avoid sounding bitter or discouraged, that’s all I’m going to say about that part of it.

But, I will mention a bit about the great kids who ran in this election.  There were six girls and six boys that made it through the primary election.  On Friday, this was narrowed down to three girls and three boys.  The kids found out right at the end of the school day.  After the announcement was made to the school, the six girls – the three that won and the three that lost - all went out together for a Hawaiian Ice and a movie.  I think this showed some good character and sportsmanship on the part of the girls that lost the election, as well as the girls that won.

Before our daughter came home from the movie, we wrote her a quick letter, telling her how proud we were of her for going after this lofty goal.  Earlier in the week, while she was preparing for her speech, we had talked with her about some of the great speakers of the past.  In the letter after the election, we quoted Winston Churchill, who said, “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”

This has led me to consider the changes in our family over the past couple of years.  For a while now, we have been trying to do more things outside our current comfort zones.  It’s the old idea of feeling afraid and still doing it anyway.  These opportunities can be as small as making a phone call we are uncomfortable with or diving into a swimming pool.  Or they can be big things, like starting a business or writing a book (or a blog).

One of the more recent and dramatic of these was last summer in Yellowstone National Park.  Before we left for our vacation, we heard about a waterfall that you can swim through and hang out behind.  We easily found the place and decided to give it a try.  Everyone put on their life jackets and we trudged down to the water’s edge.

For some reason, I had pictured an easy swim under a thin, clear sheet of smooth water.  This waterfall was anything but; at the bottom of the trail we found a thick wall of turbulent white water, thirty feet tall and twenty feet wide, crashing into a deep, dark pool of swirling, green water.  In addition to that, it started raining and hailing just as we got there.

After the storm passed on, we decided to go for it.  I went first, to see what it was like.  In a few words, the journey through the pounding wall was horrible, amazing, terrifying, thundering, disorienting, and hugely satisfying.  Once on the other side, I swam to the back of the shallow cave and stood on a rock for a minute.  I could not see out of the wall of water and couldn’t hear anything but the roar of falling water on stone and more water.  The spray coming off the back of the waterfall was so intense, I couldn’t face into it for more than a few seconds.  After catching my breath, and regrouping my courage, I headed back out.

On the other side, I found my children, excited and terrified by what was in store.  One at a time, I took them into the deep pool, explained how it would feel, what they would see, and what we should do once we got inside.  No one was forced to go, thought I encouraged each with the understanding that they would either regret not going or feel good about it if they did go.

Two more times I went through the crashing wall into the cave, first with the oldest, then the next oldest, and two more times I came back out.  Finally, it was time for the last run.  My six year old daughter cried as she told me she did want to go.  I could see the noise and the cold water were starting to break her down.  We stood, our eyes at about the same level, her on a rock in knee deep water beside me.  I explained again what she should expect and do as we swam.  Finally, exasperated, she cried out above the thundering noise, “But I’m afraid!”

I leaned close to her and whispered in her ear.  “I’m afraid too,” I confided, “but I just do it anyway.”  She looked me in the eye, amazed by what her dad had just said.  Then, as if something had just clicked into place, I watched her face change suddenly from fear to determination.  She immediately gripped my hand and stepped off into the deep water.

That was a win for her, and for every one of us.  On the other hand, the election this past Friday was not.  One experience makes it easier to try next time, while the more recent example could have just the opposite effect.  Each of us, and especially our jobless politician, will have to dig a little deeper the next time we decide to step again out onto a limb.  But, I’m pretty sure she’ll be just fine.  Besides, she’s already told me she’s running again next year.

Clark