September 11th rocked every American’s pristine fantasy of our idyllic country.
As the hackneyed expression is belabored once more, “September 11th started out like any other day”.
Being from New York, I was comfortable in my niche, angry at another Jets loss to Indianapolis, elated about another postseason for my Yankees. But 9-11 shattered my personal impression of tranquility.
I was fortunate enough to not have lost a relative or dear friend in the attacks, but what frustrated me most was the automatic disconnection I felt being in St. Louis. I had to watch the two pillars of American commerce crumble on a television, 1000 miles away. There was no way to gather with my loved ones, unless I found my Nextel a sufficient medium.
Being away from my town with no possibility of volunteering my services left me feeling helpless, spoiled and depressed. Hearing about the daily funeral services into November, the bittersweet crack of dawn where America’s new heroes searched desperately through rubble, and the lukewarm anticipation of each commencing day was excruciatingly difficult, if stated lightly.
Being at Washington University, free from the worries of terrorism and vicinal destruction, was equally difficult. Upon returning to New York that Thanksgiving, I was enveloped in a sea of doubt regarding security, conviction, and finality.
The plight of the American Airlines jet into Rockaway Beach did little to ease my nerves, having to fly just a few days later. In May, upon returning to my distinctive, unique, yet often sordid burg, I experienced a renewed determination towards normality. The lack of in-your-face attitude I witnessed in the fall was ever present in the Big Apple.
Sold-out crowds, talkative patrons, and even the murderous traffic on the FDR and the George Washington Bridge was a sight for sore eyes. The New York I live in is a place of restrained optimism, expressive thought, and diversified foodstuffs not solely intended for the palate of the epicure.
These aforementioned qualities and quantities have always reigned supreme in any New Yorker, just muddled by a period of horror. Traits of national pride and international keenness now are also more firmly emblazoned in our souls. “God Bless America” has supplanted “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” as the primary musical tune during the seventh inning stretch at Yankee Stadium (yet “Take me out…” still follows).
The depredation of terrorism will always leave a wound, but patriotism, our sense of community, and the common ideals to which not only New Yorkers, but all Americans, has fascinating healing capabilities.