Posted by smoovass at 66.56.204.47 on September 12, 2001 at 01:20:41:
To all who have lost loved ones in this aweful attack on our nation, my heart goes out to you. To all who have heard news of loved ones in the area being okay and well, I'm happy for you. For those who have the time, I'm sending out a paper I wrote today just moments ago about my feelings on the subject. It's a bit lengthy for posting, but if you have the time, please read it.
911…911…9-11…9-11-01
It’s September eleventh. I’ve been in class since eight this morning and it’s now ten forty. I’ve just gotten out of my second class, Prehistoric Life, and I’m waiting for the room to clear before I enter my third class for the day. Another student approaches me and makes small talk. She begins to make references to the World Trade Center and flights to Los Angeles. I have no idea what she’s talking about. Something about a plane crash.
As I enter my third class, Appreciation of Film: Sound, my teacher begins talking about the tragedy that has unfolded upon our great nation, but never gets to the details. Class goes on.
On my way to the library to work on a paper for my fourth class which begins in an hour and forty-five minutes, another student and I make small talk on the still foggy subject in my mind. I notice a group of people gathered around an entrance to another building watching the news on a television that has been wheeled out on the stairs. Still, I know little of the tragedy. Something about terrorists.
After finishing my paper, I retreat to the comfortable seats in front of Bryan Auditorium in Morton Hall to read another chapter in my book and take a nap. As always the rush of students getting out of and going to classes wakes me up in time for my Creative Nonfiction class at two. As I enter a few students are already seated and discussing the recent news that has shattered our nation. I join in on the conversation to gather more information and realize two passenger planes had been hijacked and murderously flown into the World Trade Center buildings. A third plane had been flown into a section of the Pentagon in Washington D.C. and yet a fourth which went down somewhere in Pennsylvania.
As the teacher enters, the reflections still go on. She addresses the class on the subject looking almost to tears. After a brief class discussion, the person to my right raises her hand and asks to be excused. The teacher thoughtfully obliges and more students follow her lead. With just a handful of people left in the class, we are dismissed to gather our thoughts and reflect on the happenings of this disastrous day.
Ignorance. I can’t help but think that there are people who are excited that some of their classes are cancelled and they get to go home. Wait a minute, is that what I’m thinking right now? Am I glad that class was cancelled? Can I answer this question honestly without sounding immoral and selfish? Yes, part of me is thankful that I was released early from class, and now that I think about it, my ex-girlfriend who I still care deeply about lives in D.C. Is she okay? Obviously I would rather have stayed in class and this tragedy never occur, but it did, and I’m out.
Now’s the time to see if the American people have put their trust in the hands of the correct person. What will George W. Bush do to help our nation recover from this atrocity that has shaken the great United States of America?
What about war? The very thought that has entered the minds of millions of America’s young men and women. Who will go? Will I be drafted? Will I fight if I am, or will I dodge and move to Mexico?
As much as I love this country and wouldn’t want to live anywhere else, I have to admit that I really don’t know what I would do if I were drafted. I look back on the history of war and realize how much this country just doesn’t give a shit about its’ soldiers when they return from war and can’t lead normal lives. I’ve seen it first hand with father. He served twenty-three years in the Air Force and wasn’t shown shit for it when he retired. He now works for the Veterans Administration in the small town of Monroe, North Carolina right outside of Charlotte. Day in and day out he tells me of stories about old war time vets who have to piss and shit into catheter bags, can barely see or hear, don’t have full use of all their limbs and should be wheel-chair bound who can’t get a dime out of the government to help pay for their hospital bills. The funding is so low that my father has to put miles on his own personal vehicle and use his own gas to take the vets to V.A. hospitals in Winston-Salem and Durham, North Carolina. Why would I want to be a soldier fighting for a country that’s just going to kick me to the curb when I come home all fucked up and shell shocked? I once told my father,
“No offense dad, but if we ever go to war, I’m on the first plane to Canada.” His only response after a brief silence was,
“I may buy you the ticket.”
How do we reward these “heroes” of our country? We see them in the streets everyday begging for money, and we turn our noses up at them. We don’t realize how well we have life. The opportunity to attend a university. To own a car. To eat.
If we were to go to war and students of UNCW were drafted, they would go off and may never return. If they did return, would they be able to pick up their lives where they left off. Doubtfully.