Walk a Mile in My Shoes

Flashback: Tuesday morning, September 11. Mrs. Palumbo's 7th grade science class. Principal Ross's scratchy, smoker-esque voice over the loudspeaker. Instant fear.

Is he okay?

Flashback: Tuesday after school. The phone keeps ringing but it's never the voice we want to hear. How is it that they are able to reach us?

Why hasn't he called?

Flashback: Shivering in the warm September afternoon. Neighbors knocking on the door, ringing our bell. Mom is getting frustrated and I sit. And I wait.

Where is he?

Flashback: Sitting in the middle of the driveway, hoping so much for him to just get home. The low, familiar rumble of his red Toyota Tacoma. He's home. He's finally, finally home.

And I lose it.



As Dad told us stories of the scared men and women trying to jump into the bed of his pickup truck to cross the George Washington Bridge into New Jersey, I could only hug him tighter for being so brave.

As he talked about the billowing clouds of debris and smoke, the bloodied faces and the dust-covered businesspeople, I wept because he was protected.

As we watched hours and hours of news coverage I wept because, unlike so many, I was fortunate to have my Daddy safely at home.



I will never forget September 11, 2011, or the fear I felt at the idea of losing my dad. Even now, almost 10 years later, just the thought of that dreadful day brings tears to my eyes.

And yet the news of Osama bin Laden's death does not make me happy. It doesn't make up for anything that happened on September 11.

It doesn't bring back the father of the little boy and girl in my sister's summer camp unit that she grew to know and love.

It doesn't bring back the Port Authority Police officers, my Mom's students, who she will never see again because they bravely responded to the 9-1-1 calls during her class.

It doesn't change the fact that there are hundreds, and maybe even thousands, of bin Laden's minions who are willing to carry out any future plan of attack that may have been planned before his death. [That is, if you really believe it was Al Qaeda who spurned the attacks ;) ]

You won't see any celebratory statuses on my Facebook or Twitter accounts; you won't see me posting patriotic (or, quite frankly, disturbing) videos or pictures with my friends - NOT because I am not proud to be an American, but because it is not over yet.

Call me jaded; call me cynical; call me whatever you like. But I will continue to call myself practical because I will not let the false hope of retaliation blind me from the truth of what's really out there. I am not ungrateful for the US troops who fight day in and day out for our protection and freedom, but I refuse to celebrate death.


In the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., "I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."