Everybody's Got a Story

After my last post, I didn't want anyone to think that I was an anarchist or unpatriotic. I can't even begin to express my (sadness, anger, disbelief, frustration, etc) after September 11th.

My story isn't that extraordinary like most of us living outside NYC or DC. But it made me think about how every generation has its story. For the Gen X'ers, we always remember where we were for September 11th and the day the first space shuttle exploded.

For my parents, I liked the stories they told about where they were when JFK was assassinated, or MLK shot, or when Elvis died. My mother, father and brother were living in Toledo and Mom was making lunch or dinner (I forget which) with the television on in the background when she heard that JFK had died. For my grandparents, it was Pearl Harbor.

On September 11, 2001, I was pretty bummed that day as I went to work. The Ex and I had broken up the day before (for the 196th time). We had been to the Janet Jackson concert on the Friday night before, and it was awkward. We had been to see Madonna a month before and I thought that all was right with the world.

I got to work that morning just a little after eight. I was working at a inner-city community center in Nashville. I powered up my computer, checked e-mail and fired up Yahoo! messenger. A friend almost immediately messaged me and told me that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. I went to CNN.com and MSNBC.com to try to find out what was going on, not that I expected a terrorist attack. Their Web sites were so busy, the pages wouldn't even load.

I didn't give it that much thought but periodically I went back to check. Before 9 a.m., the CNN site loaded, and I saw the story. I tried to go on about my business, but I wasn't successful. I had an appointment to check a proof at a printer that morning. As I drove to the printer, I could see the BellSouth building of the Nashville skyline and could almost see the planes crashing into it, and could envision the EX in the plane. Not that I was vindictive or anything.

I tried to work that morning but I kept going back to the breakroom to watch the television, and I sobbed uncontrollably when the first tower went down.

For weeks afterward, I watched CNN and fell asleep to NPR, listening for updates or new attacks until I woke up to Morning Edition the next day. The second week in October, I took vacation on the North Carolina coast. It was still new enough that Blackhawk helicopters were still patrolling the coastline. And that week, I had one of the most cathartic, emotional experiences of my life.

Even if I was drunk, it was still a good way to purge the emotions.