That night I remember hugging my wife and kids and watching the news. As an Army Reservist, I told my wife, “this is now a war and it’s not a question of ‘if’ but ‘when’ I’ll be called up.” I will forever remember the faces of my children as they tried to cope with what was going on.
For the next week – being a Social Studies teacher – suspended normal class work and – together with my students – watched the beginning of war unfold. We wept together as we witnessed the towers collapse and saw news reports about Flight 77 crashing into the Pentagon, and of the heroism of the passengers and crew on Flight 93 as they rushed to take over the plane forcing its crash into a field in rural Pennsylvania. The days were spent trying to cope with what was being seen, and the feelings of fear and of the unknown future.
By Friday, I decided it was time to give my students a chance to express their feelings. I gave them paper and crayons, markers and colored pencils and told them to draw their feelings. Their feelings poured out onto the paper, and from some there were tears as they drew and wrote about their world turned upside down. I had them write letters to the President and I collected and sent the letters to President Bush. Weeks later he replied, and I gave a copy of the letter to each of my kids.
As the years passed many of my students joined the military, and some found themselves in Iraq and Afghanistan, some multiple times. One didn’t come home. To me, these young men, who willingly volunteered to serve, and to fight, are the greatest generation. They did not hesitate to volunteer and to serve. They willingly went where others would not go. There was no draft.
In 2005, I tried to follow their example, and volunteered to lead a force protection mission for deployment to Iraq; during my training in preparation to go, I was injured severely and eventually received an artificial knee. I have found myself on many occasions wondering if I should have gone anyways, but I would not have been able to move in combat and lead my men the way they would have needed to be led. It is something that will probably always haunt me, that my men went and I did not. They all survived the deployment, but I’ve lost two of them since due to issues with PTSD.
When news came that Osama Bin Laden had been killed by members of Navy Seal Team 6, I rejoiced. I felt no guilt, and still feel none for having done so. Bin Laden hurt my children, and my students. He stripped away some of their innocence and I was glad he was gone. Had I been with the seals I would have – without hesitation – ended his life. To me there are times, and individuals, who are not worthy of trial, nor of justice in the conventional method. He had lived by the sword and he died by the sword.
9-11 is a difficult anniversary. It is not something we celebrate; it is something we commemorate. We mourn the dead and the loss of childhood securities, and we celebrate the heroism of those who rushed into burning buildings, and who’ve fought and suffered on countless battlefields in towns and fields in faraway lands. We reach out and try to support those who continue to suffer both the seen and the unseen injuries of war. We find ways to help, and we pray for release and for strength, and we pray that the sights and sounds of that fall morning will never be experienced again.
The Liberty Tree 