Ten Years Later...

For Americans, this coming Sunday is a somber day. It is the day we look back and we remember those who fell, and pray, or hope, that no more need fall for our safety, our liberty, or our freedom.

Growing up, I've always been a history buff. Especially when it comes to presidents. I read everything I could about the Kennedy assassination, and heard my parents tell stories about that day. I'd always read that "everyone remembers where they were when they heard Kennedy had died." I never thought there'd be a moment in my life where that would be true for me.

I'm sorry to say I was wrong.

Ten years ago, on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, I was in a college math class, full of people, with a teacher who was from the middle east. Mr. Arthur was his name. This was before cell phones were so common like today, and text messages were unheard of. (At least, for me). Class started at 8:00 am, and I was amazed that I had made it to class, but it being only the third week or so of college, I'm sure I was eager to please and not ready to be a slacker yet.

So I was in class, attempting to learn something I never would, until about 9:20. My next class was only three doors down and ten minutes later. I walked into class, where some had already gathered, and sat down amid hushed whispers. I didn't know what was going on, nor did I really care, because they weren't talking to me. Then someone came in and burst out with the news. I was confused. Was it an accident? How could this have happened? How many people were hurt?

The next thing I knew, our professor, himself a New Yorker, came in with a look of sheer horror on his face. He said, "go home. call your families. Class is cancelled. Go now."

He didn't even say what happened, just...left. I walked back to my dorm with a bit of a hurried pace, looking around campus, trying to discern what had really happened from everyone, but no one was paying any attention. Everyone that had a cell phone was on it. I pulled my new cell phone out and called my mother. I couldn't get through. I thought of calling my dad, but knew he'd be asleep, as he works nights. So I ran the rest of the way to the dorm, where in the lobby, they'd already wheeled in a television, and a crowd had already gathered around. The towers had already fallen by this time, but I didn't know that. So I watched with shock, horror, and so many other emotions I can't even name them, as the news replayed the falling of the second tower.

I hadn't been to church in a while by this time. Over a year and a half, I think. But I found some friends, and we decided to go to church. We found a catholic church (one of the friends was catholic), and I watched as he made his way to the front of the church, knelt and crossed himself, and lit a candle. The thing that surprised me the most was that besides the priest and the three of us...it was empty.

Even now, I think back, and realize more people were in panic and disarray then were looking for comfort. Of course, there are people who seek comfort alone, rather than in a building with others, but I never thought about it at the time.

As the hours, and then the days, went on, there was a flurry of activity. A friend of mine helped organize an emergency blood drive from our dorm, which was able to collect a lot of blood to aide in sending to victims in New York.

We held a vigil the next evening at the Eagle statue on campus, and it was clear it was a non-denominational gathering. We simply spoke of peace, and love, and hope, and sent positive thoughts, and those who believed prayed for the victims, and survivors.

Then one young man, older than me, stepped forward, and clutching a Bible in his hand, spoke of the sins of our nation, and our people, and how we, as Americans, and as sinners and decriers of God, had brought this upon ourselves. That THIS was OUR FAULT.

Immediately, people clamored to shout him down, saying this is not the time, nor the place, for a discussion on religion, and that anyone saying such things would be asked to leave. This was a time for peace, and a time for hope, and we did not need that negative attitude at our gathering.

The group then dispersed, but this young man stayed, repeating his claim, while another friend of mine (My RA, actually, and still a good friend), countered his argument with a lecture on love and peace.

It's funny how you forget things over the years, only to remember them so vividly much, much later. I usually forget about the vigil and this young man when I remember this tragedy. But now that I think about it today, it makes me angry.

Yes, our country isn't perfect. Yes, we've made plenty of mistakes. But does that, or does ANYTHING, justify the murder of 3,000+ innocent civilians?

I didn't personally know any of the victims (that I'm aware of), but today, I still find people affected by this tragedy.

I still see this kind of ignorance today, and I will go so far as to call it bigotry. I remember, within a week, people were all talking about Muslims destroying our country, and how we should attack Muslims. I even remember a friend calling me in the middle of class (though I had to wait to hear the message), that some idiots had firebombed a mosque in retaliation.

I mentioned earlier that my teacher was from the Middle East. His name was Mr. Arthur (which I learned later was an Americanization of his birth name), and yes, he had an accent. The thing I don't get, is that two days after, on Thursday, when classes had resumed, we were in my math class, and several of the students were giving Mr. Arthur an evil look, having hushed conversations behind his back. I remember hearing the word "towelhead."

I made it a point to call this person out, and when he responded that it was his people that caused the tragedy, I not so politely reminded him that he was there, in class, with us, at the time, and that I sincerely doubted that any of "his" people were to blame. I'm pretty sure the use of the "f" word, as well as "dumbass" were used...by me.

The thing that upsets me most, and makes me angrier than anything, is injustice. Whether it is criminal or legal, or in this case, prejudice. I am sick and I am tired of people hating other people because of what they look like, how they act, and who they love. I am so very sick and tired of people who think they are better because they were born different, or "normal."

Let me tell you something, to those people who choose to believe that and act this way: you are not better. you are the same. We are ALL HUMAN.

Yes, there are people, including the people who committed this atrocious act, who don't believe that we are equal. But all you are doing is sinking to their level.

Yes, I've gotten mad and called a girl a bitch. I've called a gay person a faggot. I've even called a black person a nigger. Does that make me a bigot? Unfortunately, yes. Does it make me hateful? In those moments, yes. Does it mean I don't regret it? NO.

Everytime a thought like that enters my mind, all I have to do is remember that I don't like being called any name, and that I don't like being treated as less than human.

But that's what we are. Human. Humanity. It's not just a concept, folks. It's a real, viable thing. It is the act of charity in the moment of tragedy. It is the belief that all people are created equal, and should be treated as such. It is the ten year old schoolboy who refuses to say the pledge of allegiance until ALL American Citizens are considered equal by the law. It is the middle aged black woman who has worked all day, and refuses to give up her seat on the bus to a white man, because she is tired of standing, and she is tired of prejudice. It is the Christian who says to the Muslim, I may not agree with you, but I respect you and your beliefs, and will not condemn you for them.

But most importantly, it is US. It is ALL OF US. And it is time that we share it with the world.

Take a moment, the next time one arises, to say an extra thank you, and REALLY mean it. Take a moment, and allow someone else that spot in line when they have one or two items, and you have a basketful. Take a moment, and truly appreciate ALL the people in your life, who have made you who you are today. Because believe it or not, that includes the ones you didn't agree with, or get along with, or particularly like. Because we're all here, folks, and we're all gonna be here for a while, God willing. So we might as well get along with each other.



And, more personally, thank you, to every policeman, fireman, medic, EMT, civilian, and HUMAN who aided in the rescue effort of those trapped in the towers. I would like to say thank you, 2,819 times, but even that wouldn't be enough. Thank you to those who helped donate to the relief. Thank you to those who lost their lives on that day, and the days since, both at home and abroad, for our freedom, for our safety, for our liberty. May God bless you, and keep you, forever. Amen.


Sincerely,

Michael R. Stratton