9/11 and me

[aadler]

 
My daughter did her own retrospective. This is my response.

My 9/11 memories, and what came after

Five years ago, I had just a month previously completed a Master’s degree in Health Information Systems, and was taking on temp work while I sought a position at one of the many area hospitals. My ‘job’ was part-time as well as temporary, and Tuesday, September 11th, was a day off. When I got up that morning, I turned on the television — to FoxNews, as was my normal habit — and got my first view of the images that were already racing around the world.

I watched for what was probably close to an hour before it occurred to me to contact anyone else. I called my ex-wife’s home; she was sleeping off a night shift. My son (then thirteen years old) answered the phone. I asked him if he had the television turned on. He said, “Yes,” and from the note of puzzlement in his voice, I knew he was on one of the cartoon networks. I said, “Switch to Channel 4 and wake up your mother.”

He did as instructed. She took the phone when she came to the living room, and we talked for awhile. I don’t remember anything we said. None of it, not a word. Only the second tower coming down.

Eventually it occurred to me to phone my mother. I asked the same question: “Are you watching television?” And she said, “Yes!”, with a hardness that told me it wasn’t cartoons she was viewing.

By that time I had seen other images, and I mentioned one of them to my mother: pictures of Arab civilians, dancing in the streets in celebration of mass American deaths. “Those poor people,” I said to her, “actually believe we’re their enemy. They have no idea whatsoever what it’s like to have the United States of America as an enemy.” And she replied, “They will.”

Years later, I would hear from my ex-wife that, at some point in the months following, my daughter suggested to her church group that they pray for the families of the hijackers. They themselves — the families — were guilty of nothing, and they had lost sons/brothers/husbands/fathers who sacrificed their own lives for their beliefs. I think that sentiment is a credit to my daughter’s heart … but I felt no such emotion at the time, nor at any time since. To my mother, during the long conversation on that first day, I finally voiced what had been in my mind almost from the beginning: “I cannot remember ever, ever in my life, feeling this kind of cold, murderous fury.” To which she said, “I can.”

She was not quite nine years old on December 7th, 1941. I could see the logical parallels, but for her they were emotional. Unprovoked sneak attack. Mass casualties. Shock at having such an awful, unexpected blow struck on American soil. And rage, instant total rage.

They’re not the same. Though I’d have to check the histories to know for sure, I believe the casualties on September 11th were greater … but Pearl Harbor crippled the American navy (for that moment, at least), and launched us overnight into a world war. The comparisons don’t go much deeper than the surface; Pearl Harbor was greater.

But this one, this one was mine.

Because of my age, I couldn’t join the active duty military. Because I had acquired time-in-service in the Air National Guard, ten years before, I was eligible to enlist in a reserve unit. I could easily have returned to my original company … but I wanted to be with the men on the ground, near the action, not just doing a necessary job but doing it right there, on the scene, down and dirty. So I chose the Army Reserve, and specifically asked the recruiters: of the various units I was eligible to join, which was most likely to be called to active service in the immediate future? The best prospect, I learned, was also the nearest to where I lived, an unprecedented synchronicity. I agreed. I was in.

I swore the oath on September 20th. Because I had to be trained into an Army specialty, and given the time it took for my unit to be mobilized, I missed the initial action in Afghanistan, but I was there for the invasion of Iraq, and then signed an advance waiver allowing my early follow-up mobilization to Afghanistan. I expect and intend to go along when my unit is next called to action, and as many times more as is possible before I’m forcibly retired.

The hijackers thought they would change the world. They changed mine, but I doubt it was the reaction they were seeking. Before, I opposed their cause in principle; now, I’m actively fighting them, surrounded by other men (and some rather formidable women) just as dedicated, if not more so. Every time someone in the service refuses to go to war, or tries — against the military’s wishes — to be released from service, it hits the news, which has the effect of making it appear far more common than it is. In two combat theaters, I have yet to meet anyone who wasn’t serving willingly. Many hoped never to do it again, but they were all there to do their duty. For all the opposing voices in the media (and despite frequent news reports to the contrary), the Army is still meeting its recruiting goals, after more than four years of war … and those who have already served in Iraq or Afghanistan are astonishingly likely to re-enlist.

Back in the States, I keep seeing bumper stickers: BRING OUR TROOPS HOME. Newsflash, folks: I am home. I’ve come home twice now, and I’ll go out again the next time I’m needed. And I’m not alone. I’m far from alone.

The opposition to continuing our Mideast involvement, at the current levels or greater, isn’t coming from the soldiers. We’re winning, and we know it. Everywhere we go, we win. Critics say we haven’t won, because there are still people willing to plant bombs and spring ambushes, fire from mosques and murder those of their own countrymen who aren’t suitably anti-American. But all those stalwart freedom-fighters have one thing in common: they’re doing these things in two countries that we conquered, and — believe it or not — still hold.

We’re winning. And we’ll keep winning for as long as a fastidious American public and a self-serving Congress will allow us to keep fighting. We’re happy to do it. We’re proud to do it. And none of us — none — none — are ready to surrender.

Comments

[texanfan.livejournal.com]

Y'all are fighting the toughest kind of war to fight. As long as the legitimate Iraqi government wants us there, and it does, I believe we have a responsibility to be there. Be safe and thank you for your service.