story10303.xml
Title
story10303.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2004-01-06
911DA Story: Story
Posted at http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewarticle.asp?AuthorID=15731&id=11078
If the URL expires, here is the plain text...
Where were you?
By Carma Stewart
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
www.AuthorsDen.com
An American remembers 9-11. No American should ever forget. Where were you that day, when you heard, and what did you hear? A challenge to everyone to preserve their perspective -- share your story, read others'' stories of that horrible event in history.
When the subject of the present war comes up, I cringe. It''s too complicated. I am completely grateful to all who are fighting to secure the world, to destroy (or at least greatly diminish) the threat of terrorism. Sometimes, when non-Americans criticize the fact that there is a war going on, a feeling of great sorrow and isolation creeps over me. It is as if only Americans understand what they did to us that day.
WHERE WERE YOU ON 9/11?
________________________
It was seven o?clock in the morning, Mountain Time, USA. My daughter called, her voice breathless, urgent. ?Turn on the TV,? is all she said. I did. The tone in her voice had told me this was no time for questions or hesitation. It was a dead serious, severe, scared command. ?Turn on the news,? she said. I did.
I saw the first of the Twin Towers smoking. It had just been hit. There was chaos. The news people did not know what was going on. They were looking for anyone who could tell them anything. The report was that a plane had crashed into. The news people were trying to get through to the airlines people to find out if any planes were missing.
I stood there, watching the scene on our 27-inch television. Puzzled. At this point, it was just another horrible event I could do nothing about. My daughter was still on the telephone with me, ?Are you seeing this??
?Yes.?
We listened to the television reports and hung onto the phone in silence. Then she decided she had to make some other phone calls. My daughter is very sensitive. It was bad enough for her that an airplane full of ordinary people had crashed into a skyscraper and killed hundreds of people who were at work in their offices. She needed to talk about it. At that point, we had no idea it was an act of terrorism, a plotted thing, an evil conspiracy.
We let go of each other on the phone. I watched the news. My husband watched the news. What was going on? It looked real bad. Then, as we watched, the second plane slammed into the second tower. I blinked. Hundreds of people had just been killed. We did not know at that moment it was murder. It was, at worst, at that moment, a horrible, hideous accident. Yet, it seemed intentional?two planes, the Twin Towers?why?
It did not occur to us that it was a kamikaze attack. It was just awful.
We sat mesmerized, watching the two towers smoldering. We watched the towers crumble in on themselves and fall. We heard later that a friend of ours had been on the ground and had seen the second plane hit the second tower, and had seen people leaping to their death (rather than die in the painful flames and fumes). He can never be the same.
It was a horrid, wretched day. The worst thing that had ever happened to America. It was worse than the assassination of Lincoln or Kennedy: it was uglier than anything.
I felt sure that people in other countries were watching it, but unable to comprehend the impact it was having on America, on Americans. I felt that it was only happening to us, to the U.S.
I watched all day, gripped, as most everyone I knew was. The facts unfolded, but the unraveling the mystery of why it happened did not change a thing. It was a huge mess. Huge. Not only the hole and the job of trying to rescue anyone who might have survived, but the whole stinking mess?the political mess, our response.
My family lives just three doors away from the only mosque in our small Colorado town. The Muslims had been kind to us, allowing us to use their facilities at no charge for our neighborhood space club in 1998. They had given me thirty dollars to pay for the application fee, so that we could be an official chapter of the Young Astronauts Council. They had been good neighbors; ordinary people who had migrated, as so many before them from so many countries had come to America. They were here from a variety of Middle Eastern countries, wanting to give their children better opportunities and healthier environments and freedom to be. Now they were getting threats. My heart went out to them. It wasn?t fair. It wasn?t right. The neighbors banded together and kept watch over the little building. The police parked outside when they were inside praying. We, this town of Christians, cared for them. It felt like a soothing balm?the terrorists could destroy our peace, they could change America forever, but they could not make us hate everyone that looked like them. They could not make us hate. Period. I refused to hate them.
Still, there was the problem of what to do.
That day, other planes were missing. All the planes had to be grounded and located. Another plane crashed, damaging the Pentagon. Another plane crashed in a remote area in Pennsylvania. There were rumors. We all know them now to be true?a passenger called his wife and learned what was going on. They were doomed. They might as well thwart the evildoers? plans to crash into Air Force One or the White House. We were so inspired. We cried. We felt numb. We were stunned. We prayed together. We sat and watched out televisions day after day. We talked to our children and soothed their fears.
We were so proud of George W. Bush for the way he handled the crisis. We still are.
When it was time to deal with Saddam Hussein as a major supporter of the terrorist network, we hated that it meant we would have to send our men and women to war, but we understood the consequences of allowing him and his sons to continue building power, financing those whose lives were dedicated to killing Americans, to ruining our quality of life, here, on our soil.
I am grateful for our allies.
I am grateful especially to Tony Blair.
I am grateful because we do not fear going to the market or to worship. There are many, many people working very hard to thwart those who would like to torment us and destroy our peace. It is a terrifying thing to have such a hidden, cunning enemy who hates you as much as the terrorists hate us.
This too shall pass.
When the subject of the present war comes up, I cringe. It's too complicated. I am completely grateful to all who are fighting to secure the world, to destroy (or at least greatly diminish) the threat of terrorism. Sometimes, when non-Americans criticize the fact that there is a war going on, a feeling of great sorrow and isolation creeps over me. It is as if only Americans understand what they did to us that day.
Sometimes I fear that Europeans are saying smugly in their minds, ?Now you know what it?s like.? Or worse, ?Welcome to the club.? As if we are all supposed to get used to being bullied and just put up with it.
You have to understand what it is to be born and raised American. We did not ourselves understand our heritage, our personality, our place in history, until 9/11.
It is too hard to define. It hurt us real bad in our psyche. Please don?t expect us to turn the other cheek and let them suicide bomb all over us. It isn?t going to happen, even if we have to fight them all by ourselves. We?ll do it. And we?ll win!
If the URL expires, here is the plain text...
Where were you?
By Carma Stewart
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
www.AuthorsDen.com
An American remembers 9-11. No American should ever forget. Where were you that day, when you heard, and what did you hear? A challenge to everyone to preserve their perspective -- share your story, read others'' stories of that horrible event in history.
When the subject of the present war comes up, I cringe. It''s too complicated. I am completely grateful to all who are fighting to secure the world, to destroy (or at least greatly diminish) the threat of terrorism. Sometimes, when non-Americans criticize the fact that there is a war going on, a feeling of great sorrow and isolation creeps over me. It is as if only Americans understand what they did to us that day.
WHERE WERE YOU ON 9/11?
________________________
It was seven o?clock in the morning, Mountain Time, USA. My daughter called, her voice breathless, urgent. ?Turn on the TV,? is all she said. I did. The tone in her voice had told me this was no time for questions or hesitation. It was a dead serious, severe, scared command. ?Turn on the news,? she said. I did.
I saw the first of the Twin Towers smoking. It had just been hit. There was chaos. The news people did not know what was going on. They were looking for anyone who could tell them anything. The report was that a plane had crashed into. The news people were trying to get through to the airlines people to find out if any planes were missing.
I stood there, watching the scene on our 27-inch television. Puzzled. At this point, it was just another horrible event I could do nothing about. My daughter was still on the telephone with me, ?Are you seeing this??
?Yes.?
We listened to the television reports and hung onto the phone in silence. Then she decided she had to make some other phone calls. My daughter is very sensitive. It was bad enough for her that an airplane full of ordinary people had crashed into a skyscraper and killed hundreds of people who were at work in their offices. She needed to talk about it. At that point, we had no idea it was an act of terrorism, a plotted thing, an evil conspiracy.
We let go of each other on the phone. I watched the news. My husband watched the news. What was going on? It looked real bad. Then, as we watched, the second plane slammed into the second tower. I blinked. Hundreds of people had just been killed. We did not know at that moment it was murder. It was, at worst, at that moment, a horrible, hideous accident. Yet, it seemed intentional?two planes, the Twin Towers?why?
It did not occur to us that it was a kamikaze attack. It was just awful.
We sat mesmerized, watching the two towers smoldering. We watched the towers crumble in on themselves and fall. We heard later that a friend of ours had been on the ground and had seen the second plane hit the second tower, and had seen people leaping to their death (rather than die in the painful flames and fumes). He can never be the same.
It was a horrid, wretched day. The worst thing that had ever happened to America. It was worse than the assassination of Lincoln or Kennedy: it was uglier than anything.
I felt sure that people in other countries were watching it, but unable to comprehend the impact it was having on America, on Americans. I felt that it was only happening to us, to the U.S.
I watched all day, gripped, as most everyone I knew was. The facts unfolded, but the unraveling the mystery of why it happened did not change a thing. It was a huge mess. Huge. Not only the hole and the job of trying to rescue anyone who might have survived, but the whole stinking mess?the political mess, our response.
My family lives just three doors away from the only mosque in our small Colorado town. The Muslims had been kind to us, allowing us to use their facilities at no charge for our neighborhood space club in 1998. They had given me thirty dollars to pay for the application fee, so that we could be an official chapter of the Young Astronauts Council. They had been good neighbors; ordinary people who had migrated, as so many before them from so many countries had come to America. They were here from a variety of Middle Eastern countries, wanting to give their children better opportunities and healthier environments and freedom to be. Now they were getting threats. My heart went out to them. It wasn?t fair. It wasn?t right. The neighbors banded together and kept watch over the little building. The police parked outside when they were inside praying. We, this town of Christians, cared for them. It felt like a soothing balm?the terrorists could destroy our peace, they could change America forever, but they could not make us hate everyone that looked like them. They could not make us hate. Period. I refused to hate them.
Still, there was the problem of what to do.
That day, other planes were missing. All the planes had to be grounded and located. Another plane crashed, damaging the Pentagon. Another plane crashed in a remote area in Pennsylvania. There were rumors. We all know them now to be true?a passenger called his wife and learned what was going on. They were doomed. They might as well thwart the evildoers? plans to crash into Air Force One or the White House. We were so inspired. We cried. We felt numb. We were stunned. We prayed together. We sat and watched out televisions day after day. We talked to our children and soothed their fears.
We were so proud of George W. Bush for the way he handled the crisis. We still are.
When it was time to deal with Saddam Hussein as a major supporter of the terrorist network, we hated that it meant we would have to send our men and women to war, but we understood the consequences of allowing him and his sons to continue building power, financing those whose lives were dedicated to killing Americans, to ruining our quality of life, here, on our soil.
I am grateful for our allies.
I am grateful especially to Tony Blair.
I am grateful because we do not fear going to the market or to worship. There are many, many people working very hard to thwart those who would like to torment us and destroy our peace. It is a terrifying thing to have such a hidden, cunning enemy who hates you as much as the terrorists hate us.
This too shall pass.
When the subject of the present war comes up, I cringe. It's too complicated. I am completely grateful to all who are fighting to secure the world, to destroy (or at least greatly diminish) the threat of terrorism. Sometimes, when non-Americans criticize the fact that there is a war going on, a feeling of great sorrow and isolation creeps over me. It is as if only Americans understand what they did to us that day.
Sometimes I fear that Europeans are saying smugly in their minds, ?Now you know what it?s like.? Or worse, ?Welcome to the club.? As if we are all supposed to get used to being bullied and just put up with it.
You have to understand what it is to be born and raised American. We did not ourselves understand our heritage, our personality, our place in history, until 9/11.
It is too hard to define. It hurt us real bad in our psyche. Please don?t expect us to turn the other cheek and let them suicide bomb all over us. It isn?t going to happen, even if we have to fight them all by ourselves. We?ll do it. And we?ll win!
Collection
Citation
“story10303.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed December 11, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/15019.