| Taking
Steps Forward |
| It has been 17 days since two airplanes destroyed the soaring
towers in New York City's World Trade Center. It has been
17 days since one airplane flew into the Pentagon in our back
yard, causing about a half-billion dollars in damage. It has
been 17 days since a hijacked airplane slammed into the quiet
Pennsylvania countryside. |
| More than 6,400 people were killed by suicidal madmen in
the mayhem. Six thousand, four hundred people killed in one
hour on a gloriously sunny day. |
| That's about 11 percent of all Americans killed in the protracted
Vietnam War, where more than 57,000 men and women were killed
in the rice paddies and jungles of Vietnam and Cambodia. But
that was war. |
| On Sept. 11, 6,400 people were killed while they were pouring
their first cup of coffee in the office, making a telephone
call, or just booting up their computers. It wasn't war. |
| This past weekend, after seeing those airplanes fly into
the towers for the hundredth time, after seeing the smoke
billow from the Pentagon time and time again, after thousands
of hours of news reports on television about terrorism, and
thousands of photographs and hours of tears, I was just plain
worn out. |
| Tired. |
| Fatigued. |
| Sick in heart and soul. |
| I just wanted to sleep, to forget it all. |
| But the world won't let me forget. |
| There have been so many fund-raisers for the victims' families,
the Red Cross and the United Way, from the quiet Town Green
of Herndon, to celebrities singing patriotic songs during
a telethon, to baseball stadiums filled with tears and stories
and families crying, and speeches and prayers and tiny flags
waving. |
| The flags. |
| The flags. Attached to car windows and truck beds, hanging
from houses and businesses, carried by children, flown by
countries around the world. U.S. flags the size of football
fields and baseball diamonds. Flags at half-staff and at half-mast.
Flags made from crayon-colored cardboard and hurriedly sewn
scarves and bonnets. |
| People wore their patriotism on their sleeve. Unabashedly.
Unashamed. Proud. Angry. Scared. |
| Airplanes flying out of Dulles International Airport and
over my Herndon home have taken on a different meaning since
Sept. 11. I once loved the sound of those airplanes. People
on the go. People doing business. People going to see families.
People having fun. |
| Now I look up suspiciously. I hear a different sound, and
it's not fun. |
| Would it crash? I think those airplanes sound differently
than they used to sound. On Sept. 11 those commercial 737s,
757s and 767s were replaced by fighter jets blasting off,
flying over my house, over my office, if even for just a day. |
| There are not supposed to be fighter jets flying over my
house and over my office. |
| What were they? Tomcats? F-16s? No matter. They were war
planes. |
| It has worn me down. And 17 days after Sept. 11, I'm tired.
I'm sick of heart. But my soul is coming back. |
| This past weekend I read a novel's-worth of stories published
in The Washington Post about terrorists, about Afghanistan,
about Pakistan, about why, and how, men become mad, become
insane enough to kill 6,400 innocent people. |
| It wasn't even a war. At least not then. |
| I know I won't ever totally get over the events of Sept.
11. They'll be with me forever. Just like Vietnam. Just like
Oklahoma City. The events will surely change me. |
| But now it's time to take steps forward. They don't have
to be big ones. But they have to be forward. I've promised
myself to learn from all of this, to be aware of the things
we all have. |
| Things like family. |
| And friends. |
| And future. |
| And freedom. |
| And that's Our Town this week. |
