story3030.xml
Title
story3030.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2002-09-11
911DA Story: Story
STOLEN
Not to be a wet blanket, but I thought I'd offer another perspective on the sad, sick, events that happened today:
At 6 years old, my son Patrick has enjoyed for his whole life a luxury that few Americans have known. Born into this strange gift, he was blessed and fortunate to be in a position where he could never realize that his parents (and his parents' parents) hadn't enjoyed a similar gift.
He and his young peers have lived their lives in a nation enjoying an all-too-brief period free from a sense of national fear. Unlike his parents, he hasn't been raised with a national fear of Communist Russia and the lingering threat of nuclear war. And unlike their parents, he has never known air raid drills, blackout curtains, or the turmoil of world war.
Tonight, I looked in his eyes and witnessed the exact moment at which that innocence was stolen.
After an uneventful Karate class, I surprised him by telling him that we were going to have dinner at a new pizza place that had just opened. He was told that we were celebrating his successful belt testing last Friday - this week he will graduate from a yellow belt to an orange belt. Really, I just wanted to keep him away from TV until bedtime. I knew that turning on the TV would mean having to explain what had happened this morning, and frankly, I wasn't up to it. I also hoped that maybe we wouldn't have to face it at all. While I've always believed in discussing weighty issues openly and honestly with Patrick, I just didn't think that this was something that he could benefit from learning about. I thought that the distraction of pizza might be a better idea.
Shortly after we had sat down and ordered, I watched as my plan fell apart. Straight ahead of me, just above Patrick's head, was a TV which I could see clearly. It was off, and I hadn't really paid much attention to it. When it came on, I realized it would only be a matter of moments until he turned around to see the coverage that I had been watching all day. As I heard the sound come from behind me, I realized that he wouldn't have to turn around at all - behind me, on the wall opposite the other TV, the same coverage was playing. As I watched in a trance, I saw an image that was new to me. It was of the second airliner striking the WTC, shot from the street below the tower in such a way that you could actually see it breaking through the exterior of the building. As I looked away from the screen, I made eye contact with Patrick as he pointed out to me that "an airplane just flew through that building and exploded." I've never seen him so perplexed. I saw in his eyes something I had never seen before.
He had seen horrible acts of destruction before. I had caught him watching war footage on TV when I assumed he was watching Nickelodeon or the Disney Channel. We had walked the encampments at Valley Forge together and talked about the lives lost during the Revolutionary War. We had discussed how his great grandfather had been a prisoner of war in Germany, and the abuses he suffered. But each time I could explain it away, and ease his mind. "That happened in another country", I would say. Or "that was before we had the kind of weapons that we have today to protect our country." Even as we discussed the realities in a very "adult" manner, it was always easy to compartmentalize the tragedy in a box far-removed from his everyday life. Until now.
What he watched as we sat in that pizza place was the lives of people just like him and me being taken for no reason. It was happening now, and it was happening in our backyard. As we talked about it then, and later before he fell asleep at home, I was amazed at just how much of this he "got". He assumed that the plane was full of people (why else would a plane be in the air?). He understood that at that speed, every person on the plane was killed in the crash. As he saw footage of the towers after the collision, he saw the size of the holes through them and pointed out that it looked like there were a lot of floors through which the planes had crashed. When I acknowledged this, he asked if each floor was as big as one of the floors in our house. I didn't have the heart to tell him that each floor was big enough to fit his whole school inside of it. When he heard one of the commentators suggest that the WTC houses 50,000 workers, he wanted to know how many fifty-thousand was. My mind reeled, and I thought of the largest number of people he had ever seen at one time. "More people than were in the stands at the baseball game last weekend", realizing that the entire stadium would need to be refilled many times to fit that many people. I could see his mind processing the reality of that many people dying. It made no sense to try to explain that tens of thousands were evacuated / not there, etc.
We talked about who would do such a thing (I told him it was "bad people" - a nod to the fact that there are people in this world who are evil). We talked about what the victims had done to deserve this (he seemed to understand the "sometimes bad things happen to good people" reasoning). We talked about the fact that the hijackers had committed suicide (I was amazed to hear him say this, and even more amazed that he really understood the concept). We talked about why a pilot would fly his plane into a building instead of fighting the hijackers (I explained the theory that, at that point, the pilots were not behind the controls). And then he asked me the question that stopped me in my tracks. "Could that ever happen here?" I stammered something about "big buildings" and "landmarks" and may have even used terms like "symbols of the American culture" as I tried to explain that Chester County would be an unlikely target. But I knew that the honest answer to his question was "Yes."
And the shock that had shrouded my perception of the days events disappeared instantly and was replaced by rage. Those sons of bitches hidden in a hole in some other part of the world, who had taken the lives of thousands of innocent people whom they had never met and who had never met them, had also stolen something from my son. This wonderful little boy would face, at least periodically, the reality that something like this could happen to him. Now, like his parents who worried about nuclear war, and his grandparents who worried about air raids, he and his peers would have their own national fear. It would have been pointless to try to draw distinctions that distanced this tragedy. In his mind (or that of anyone who faced the full reality of the situation), the people who were killed or injured were just like us, going about their regular, everyday lives. Maybe they were at their desk, or flying to visit a relative, or on their way to a meeting. Nothing special, or out of the ordinary. But their lives were ended. Because of the coincidence of where they were at a particular time.
For Patrick, his country was no longer without a villain to threaten its safety. His nightmares were no longer without a tangible enemy. His security could no longer be assumed.
And as Patrick looked at me, his eyes continuing to beg the question "Am I safe?", I did what I hated, but knew I had to do. I lied, and told him that something like that couldn't happen "here". I knew he was too smart to buy it, but I think it eased his mind a little for now. He fell asleep as I held him.
***************
Please give blood today. Right now, it is the only way you can help. I know that each of you are busy, and I know that there are a lot of pressing things on your plate. But your blood may save the life of someone who suffered this tragedy firsthand, while each of us were fortunate enough to remain safe in our homes or offices. To find out where you can donate locally, you can call 1-800-GIVE-LIFE.
***************
- Pat
Patrick McCabe
pmccabe@ccis.net
voice: 610.316.5667
Not to be a wet blanket, but I thought I'd offer another perspective on the sad, sick, events that happened today:
At 6 years old, my son Patrick has enjoyed for his whole life a luxury that few Americans have known. Born into this strange gift, he was blessed and fortunate to be in a position where he could never realize that his parents (and his parents' parents) hadn't enjoyed a similar gift.
He and his young peers have lived their lives in a nation enjoying an all-too-brief period free from a sense of national fear. Unlike his parents, he hasn't been raised with a national fear of Communist Russia and the lingering threat of nuclear war. And unlike their parents, he has never known air raid drills, blackout curtains, or the turmoil of world war.
Tonight, I looked in his eyes and witnessed the exact moment at which that innocence was stolen.
After an uneventful Karate class, I surprised him by telling him that we were going to have dinner at a new pizza place that had just opened. He was told that we were celebrating his successful belt testing last Friday - this week he will graduate from a yellow belt to an orange belt. Really, I just wanted to keep him away from TV until bedtime. I knew that turning on the TV would mean having to explain what had happened this morning, and frankly, I wasn't up to it. I also hoped that maybe we wouldn't have to face it at all. While I've always believed in discussing weighty issues openly and honestly with Patrick, I just didn't think that this was something that he could benefit from learning about. I thought that the distraction of pizza might be a better idea.
Shortly after we had sat down and ordered, I watched as my plan fell apart. Straight ahead of me, just above Patrick's head, was a TV which I could see clearly. It was off, and I hadn't really paid much attention to it. When it came on, I realized it would only be a matter of moments until he turned around to see the coverage that I had been watching all day. As I heard the sound come from behind me, I realized that he wouldn't have to turn around at all - behind me, on the wall opposite the other TV, the same coverage was playing. As I watched in a trance, I saw an image that was new to me. It was of the second airliner striking the WTC, shot from the street below the tower in such a way that you could actually see it breaking through the exterior of the building. As I looked away from the screen, I made eye contact with Patrick as he pointed out to me that "an airplane just flew through that building and exploded." I've never seen him so perplexed. I saw in his eyes something I had never seen before.
He had seen horrible acts of destruction before. I had caught him watching war footage on TV when I assumed he was watching Nickelodeon or the Disney Channel. We had walked the encampments at Valley Forge together and talked about the lives lost during the Revolutionary War. We had discussed how his great grandfather had been a prisoner of war in Germany, and the abuses he suffered. But each time I could explain it away, and ease his mind. "That happened in another country", I would say. Or "that was before we had the kind of weapons that we have today to protect our country." Even as we discussed the realities in a very "adult" manner, it was always easy to compartmentalize the tragedy in a box far-removed from his everyday life. Until now.
What he watched as we sat in that pizza place was the lives of people just like him and me being taken for no reason. It was happening now, and it was happening in our backyard. As we talked about it then, and later before he fell asleep at home, I was amazed at just how much of this he "got". He assumed that the plane was full of people (why else would a plane be in the air?). He understood that at that speed, every person on the plane was killed in the crash. As he saw footage of the towers after the collision, he saw the size of the holes through them and pointed out that it looked like there were a lot of floors through which the planes had crashed. When I acknowledged this, he asked if each floor was as big as one of the floors in our house. I didn't have the heart to tell him that each floor was big enough to fit his whole school inside of it. When he heard one of the commentators suggest that the WTC houses 50,000 workers, he wanted to know how many fifty-thousand was. My mind reeled, and I thought of the largest number of people he had ever seen at one time. "More people than were in the stands at the baseball game last weekend", realizing that the entire stadium would need to be refilled many times to fit that many people. I could see his mind processing the reality of that many people dying. It made no sense to try to explain that tens of thousands were evacuated / not there, etc.
We talked about who would do such a thing (I told him it was "bad people" - a nod to the fact that there are people in this world who are evil). We talked about what the victims had done to deserve this (he seemed to understand the "sometimes bad things happen to good people" reasoning). We talked about the fact that the hijackers had committed suicide (I was amazed to hear him say this, and even more amazed that he really understood the concept). We talked about why a pilot would fly his plane into a building instead of fighting the hijackers (I explained the theory that, at that point, the pilots were not behind the controls). And then he asked me the question that stopped me in my tracks. "Could that ever happen here?" I stammered something about "big buildings" and "landmarks" and may have even used terms like "symbols of the American culture" as I tried to explain that Chester County would be an unlikely target. But I knew that the honest answer to his question was "Yes."
And the shock that had shrouded my perception of the days events disappeared instantly and was replaced by rage. Those sons of bitches hidden in a hole in some other part of the world, who had taken the lives of thousands of innocent people whom they had never met and who had never met them, had also stolen something from my son. This wonderful little boy would face, at least periodically, the reality that something like this could happen to him. Now, like his parents who worried about nuclear war, and his grandparents who worried about air raids, he and his peers would have their own national fear. It would have been pointless to try to draw distinctions that distanced this tragedy. In his mind (or that of anyone who faced the full reality of the situation), the people who were killed or injured were just like us, going about their regular, everyday lives. Maybe they were at their desk, or flying to visit a relative, or on their way to a meeting. Nothing special, or out of the ordinary. But their lives were ended. Because of the coincidence of where they were at a particular time.
For Patrick, his country was no longer without a villain to threaten its safety. His nightmares were no longer without a tangible enemy. His security could no longer be assumed.
And as Patrick looked at me, his eyes continuing to beg the question "Am I safe?", I did what I hated, but knew I had to do. I lied, and told him that something like that couldn't happen "here". I knew he was too smart to buy it, but I think it eased his mind a little for now. He fell asleep as I held him.
***************
Please give blood today. Right now, it is the only way you can help. I know that each of you are busy, and I know that there are a lot of pressing things on your plate. But your blood may save the life of someone who suffered this tragedy firsthand, while each of us were fortunate enough to remain safe in our homes or offices. To find out where you can donate locally, you can call 1-800-GIVE-LIFE.
***************
- Pat
Patrick McCabe
pmccabe@ccis.net
voice: 610.316.5667
Collection
Citation
“story3030.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed January 4, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/3784.