September 11, 2011

• Grandma, Pearl Harbor,& 9-11

  My mother’s mother had a unique birthday…December 7th.

  For years, it was just her birthday…then in 1941 it became “A day that will live in infamy…” The day Pearl Harbor was attacked. For the rest of her life, she cried on her birthday…because it was the anniversary of so many people losing their lives. It would never again be hers. And When my mother told me about it, I didn’t understand the logic. Surely once the War ended, Grandma could let it go? We hadn’t lost anyone to the attack. There were losses, of course…but not that day.

  When I was young, there were men I ran into—I remember one teacher in particular…his name is lost to me. But he taught one of the other fifth grade glasses in PS #6 in Jersey City, and one day Mrs. Ruby invited him to come to our class, and speak about Pearl Harbor. He had been there…had survived the attack, and in retrospect, he carried the horror of it with him. But he was talking to a group of inner city fifth graders. We were all of 11 or 12…not quite teenagers. We were goofy, and immature. And we reacted in a typical fifth grade fashion when the passionate, sincere man opened his talk with “December 7th was the Day the Japanese caught us with our pants down.”. We laughed.

  Whatever he had meant to say was lost. He was angry with us…and he spent the next ten minutes lecturing us on our lack of appreciation. It made an impression on me. But the real value didn’t come til after 9-11. Once September 11, 2001 became part of my personal collection of memories, I could not help but think of my Grandmother, and her lost birthdays…or the teacher who wanted so much to enlighten a generation to something we could barely comprehend.

  Ten years has past since my friend Sunny called and said “Turn on your television…a plane just hit the World Trade Center…” and this year they are having observances, and solemn dedications. You can’t look anywhere, without seeing something about it.  Some people think it’s boring. Other people think of it as cheap hucksterism, on the part of politicians trying to grab a few minutes of media attention. But I’m not over it. I’m not past it. There is a part of me that still can’t believe that awful day happened.  People from my community died there. Others were part of the rescue effort. I still can’t bear to look at the skyline by the Battery. People from my community who happened to be Muslim were tormented for weeks and months after.

  I watched people rise to new levels of valor…and sink to lowest levels of hate and fear.

  I watched my country  start a war that seems like it will never end.

  I had to explain the unexplainable to my daughter…who was only ten when it happened.

  And somehow, I had to go back to “normal”, when the foundations of my life were shaken.

  So I am not over it.
  Like Grandma, The day will never fall without tears, or simply profound sadness.  It’s not something I can sweep away without thought…or get used to. I will never be “past” it. I hope my daughter never knows such a day…nor her children.

  Let peace begin with me.

  • 1:15 am
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