"Fourteen Years Later"

I awoke to the sounds of my father yelling. Groggy, confused, hungover, and bleary eyed, I glared over at the alarm clock to see what time it was. What the fuck? It wasn't even 10 am – then still considered a “quiet” part of the day, in a house full of night owls and partying teens at various stages in life. As the oldest of the three girls, I was really the primary partier in the household at the time, but everyone except my Mom had a tendency to sleep late unless work, school, or some other responsibility deemed otherwise. Little did my family suspect that we would all wind up living in this house together again several years down the line - this time as adults recovering from the crashing economy in 2007, all but myself married, and my two sisters both pregnant. Three couples and one stubbornly single person sharing a small house, it was crazy and awful and marvelous all at the same time. Funny how life works. None of us would have willingly chosen that lifestyle. But, when the boys were born, there was a village around to help out. There was almost always an adult around to help with my sisters with the newborns, who may as well be brothers since they are barely a month apart. You have no idea how hard it is to shower or take a shit when you have a baby and no one to keep an eye on it for that five minutes. And I don't even have kids of my own. Knocks on wood. Don't get me wrong, I like kids. I just prefer handing them back.

No, this was still 2001. Long before my baby sisters would be married and have children. A year, that for me, had marked testing out of high school early, because I was so fucking bored with the William S. Hart School District I was barely able to keep bringing myself to class. So rather than graduate late, or not at all, I took advantage of a program offered by the state of California, The California High School Proficiency Exam, or CHSPE for short, designed exactly for people like me. Thank Goddess. Otherwise, I would have been up and daydreaming away at my desk at Canyon High during this pivotal moment in history, instead of sleeping in as late as possible before my first college course of the day. My experience would have been drastically different had I been in class like most people my age. I think it would have been more traumatic, much harder on me, more dragged out. You now how awful high school is to begin with. I imagine classes around the world, huddled up around TV screens, watching together in horror at the scene unfolding before them, crying and consoling each other and the teacher trying to act a like a solid rock upon which the students could find support. As far as I understand it, many classes around the country shut down early that day.

I was totally clueless of the facts as I sleepily rolled over and pulled a pillow over my head, trying to catch a few more much needed Zzz's before heading off to community college. But to no avail. My Dad's exclamations only continued growing louder. I thought he was watching a Nascar race, the way he was carrying on in the next room. He is not really a sports guy, but boy does he love racing, especially Nascar. I am sure his lack of interest in sports involving inflatable balls confuses his fellow Mexican-Americans, but he was purposely whitewashed by his parents so he would acclimate better, and did wrestling in high school. He has no connection to football, or futbal, and I am so grateful for that. I find those sports boring, time consuming, and the fathers of the world who get into them to be generally less engaging with their kids. We went hiking on Sundays, or to the beach. We weren't enslaved to year around game schedules and stats.

But as my father's exclamations of “WOAH!”, “NO WAY!”, and “HOLY SHIT!” echoed down the hall from the living room, and through the poorly insulated french doors to my office-turned-bedroom, I felt no appreciation for his tastes or preferences. At that moment, all I wanted was sleep. Precious sleep. I was constantly sleep deprived and hungover from approximately 1998 to 2006.

Aggravated as only a moody teen can be, I pulled on a big t-shirt and some shorts, flung open one of the doors to my room, and stomped down the hall. My Dad's voice grew in volume and intensity as I approached. I had words of retribution burning on my tongue, Jesus Christ man, can't you be respectable and watch the race later, or at least be quiet while I'm still sleeping?!?

Then, I realized my Dad wasn't the only one in the room, and he was exclaiming in horror, not shouting enthusiastically. All eyes were riveted to the old school style tube television in our living room, California sunshine streaming in behind it, creating an eerie contrast to the feed coming in on the screen. All thought, all previous anger and feelings I'd had, evaporated like morning dew in the hot desert sun.

I didn't know what I was looking at. I was so confused. Instead of cars driving in circles, the screen was focused in on some skyscrapers in a city. I didn't know which one it was, but I could tell from the skyline that it wasn't L.A. I wish I could remember more details about this moment, who else was there or exactly what was said. But my memory of the details are very poor. I want to say my whole family was there, but I don't think that is accurate. I feel like one or two of us were elsewhere. I will have to ask around and find out.

As the sleepy fog rapidly cleared from my head and I focused in on the TV better, I noticed that the camera was zoomed in on a specific set of skyscrapers, and that one of them had smoke billowing out of it from an upper floor. “What the...?” Came out of my mouth. It felt dry and my body felt numb. I can't remember who told me what was going on, I think it was my Dad. What do you mean, a plane hit one of the Twin Towers? Was it a horrible accident or something? No one really knew what was happening or why, and I felt even more confused. I sat down on the couch next to him. And then the second plan hit the tower. It was so surreal. I felt like I was watching a movie. There's no way this can actually be happening right now in our own New York City! But it was. The reality of the situation hit full force when we saw tiny figures throwing themselves from the Towers to escape the flames and destruction. Holy shit, those are people! People who got up and went to work, just like anyone else. Plugging away at their computers, making phone calls, worrying about getting that TPS report done on time. The last fucking thing you'd be thinking about is if some crazy assholes are going to be flying 747's into your building and you'd be faced with death in a most brutal form.

We didn't know what to say. My Dad grew silent. We just sat there and watched 9/11 unfold, like the rest of the nation. Horrified, shocked, surprised, confused. Why would this happen? How could it happen?

14 years later, and we are still struggling to answer these questions. There are too many layers to it for anyone to fully unravel. Violence and destruction are never excusable, no one should ever have to worry about dieing a fiery death on the job, unless you're a firefighter or something like that. Certainly not as a Paper Pusher.

But have we learned anything? Did anything change? Or did we just react, respond, get lost in a sea of justified anger and patriotism, and carry on with the Military Industrial Complex as usual? Did we try to figure out why people would feel compelled to do what they did on that day, to perform such great acts of horror? To what were they trying to draw our attention, and did we stop to notice? How much longer will America “walk softly and carry a big stick”? When will we realize we don't walk softly at all, that our steps make massive impacts on the rest of the globe? That in order for us to be able to live the American way, to buy cheap electronics and clothes and shoes and sheets and towels and diamonds and medications and everything else we consume, that countless people suffer for it?

Think about it. Where are your clothes and shoes that you're wearing right now made? How were the raw materials used to produce those goods harvested and processed? Don't you wonder why more products aren't made in the USA by US citizens? Don't you wonder why we have military bases in practically every country on the planet?

I will never, ever, suggest that the horrors of 9/11 were justified.

I just wish we would learn to respond more and react less. I think that, slowly, people are starting to question our insatiable need for war and cheap, imported goods. The internet is making all sorts of progress and revolutions possible.

But I still wonder how much we have actually learned. When you listen to the delegates for the upcoming presidential election speak, it is easy to lose faith. They sound like the worst batch of talking heads ever produced by the electoral process, on all sides. I'm considering burning my ballot this year. I seriously think that would be a better use of time, energy, and paper, than voting in any of the fucks running for office. Thankfully, Bernie is holding his own pretty well. He's a bit socialist for me, but he's probably gonna get my vote. Who knows.

How different would things be had we heeded Eisenhower's ominous warning back in '61?

Regardless, I remain a cautious optimist. I think we are waking up. Although I feel it cannot happen fast enough. I long for progress to happen more quickly, and trickle up to the bureaucracies asap.

Those are always the last to be effected by growth, change, and progress, and yet hold the most power.

If I could, I would scrap the entire House and Senate, and start fresh with people under the age of 45.

It's time for the old ways of Military and Corporate control of America to end.

Before another 9/11 happens, and/or we destroy the fragile ecosystem of this planet any further.

May those who were affected by this travesty find love, peace, and serenity. <3 <3 <3