Where Was I That Day?

So I know this is a food blog and I know this may not be the forum for it, but this is my forum.  My megaphone.  My chance to speak my piece.  I can't go through this entire day without sharing some thoughts.  Not today.  Not on September 11th.

There are plenty of specials on television tonight and there have been lot's of memorial services held today.  Some channels have been playing specials all week long leading up to the tenth anniversary of that fateful day.  I don't have to watch any more footage of that day.  My memory doesn't need any jogging.

My September 11th, 2001, began as I was living in suburban Chicago.  Thousands of miles from the epicenter of activity.  At the time I was working part-time at the Clarendon Hills Fire Department and was contemplating the pursuit of a full-time career in public service.  On that day, I awoke and got in the shower to get ready for my workday.  Shortly after I got out my phone rang.  My future wife called and told me to turn on the news.  We stood there talking on the phone in our separate apartments and watching the news coverage when we both saw the second plane hit the second tower.  It took a moment for it all to compute.

The rest of my day was spent glued to the television.  We barely got any work accomplished as we learned of the crash in Pennsylvania and the crash at the Pentagon.  It all seemed surreal and as a firefighter, I couldn't help but feel a sense of helplessness.  I have always had an overwhelming desire to help others and on that day I had to just sit and watch.  The writer in me felt helpless as well.  Some of the greatest writers cut their teeth on the experience of war.  Hemingway had his war and yet I was stuck between the Iraq War that once was and the war on terror that was just about to begin.  My time in military service occurred between the two.

In the days after, we learned about those who perished and we saw the iconic images capturing the events.  My wife has no interest in re-living any of those images, but for me I see the importance in remembering.  The need to not forget the past.  Despite being thousands of miles away, it all hit home in two significant ways.

First, we quickly learned that one member of our suburban Chicago church was flying from Boston to Los Angeles on that day and he perished when the plane he was a passenger on flew into a tower.  I didn't know him very well, but as soon as I saw the picture of him I recognized him.  That suddenly brought the whole thing closer to home.  My little bubble of safety had burst.

The second thing was something that I had never experienced as an adult and something that was all too disturbing.  As the attacks were occurring, the FAA ordered all of the aircraft in the United States to land.  Never before and never since has this been done.  Living in Chicago, you become used to the constant sound and sight of planes arriving and departing from O'Hare and Midway airports.  Each night as the ban on flight was in effective, I'd walk outside and peer up at the skies.  I remember that the nights were all cool and clear in Chicago.  You could see the handful of stars visible in such an urban setting, but none of them were moving.  It was unnerving to know that the handful of terrorists who executed their plan that day had such a profound effect on our country.

Now 10 years later, I live with some guilt.  I went on to serve others as a police officer and while my time in public service has been rewarding and has enabled me to help a number of people, more than I will likely ever know, but I still feel guilty that all I could do on that day was to watch it all unfold on television.  It bothers me that I couldn't help more and I suspect that most of us all harbor some guilt that we were where we were on that day and not right there to help.  Even those who were there and who did help out had to feel helpless, too.  Helpless as they didn't know what exactly was happening or when the next attack would occur.  Helpless that they could stop physics.  That they could prevent the catastrophic collapse of those towers.

Tonight I sat watching the Sunday night football game with my family and the game opened with the playing of taps.  My daughter said, 'I heard that song this afternoon, daddy.'  I told her that they play that song when important people die.  She didn't ask another question.  The moment had passed for the six year old, but not for me.  A lot of important people died on that day.  And many more have died in the years since in Iraq and Afghanistan.  You can watch lots of specials about who was right or wrong in the war on terror, but at the end of the day I rejoice in the knowledge that there are thousands of brave men and women in this country serving in the military, the fire service, law enforcement and emergency services.  People that will run into a dangerous situation without regard to their own safety hoping to save anyone they can.  Every September 11th stings and it likely always will, but today is a day to remember those lost and to praise those who continue to serve.  Let us not forget those who died, yet remember them as the true superheroes among us.  God Bless America!