Author's note: This is really an entry about September Eleventh. If you
don't want to read about it, don't continue. It's only related to MASH
because it is a letter being written to a character from MASH. Most of the
content of the letter is unrelated to said television show. I hope this
doesn't offend anybody. I don't think it will, but I say that just in case.
I just felt like I had to write this so I did. Feel free to respond to it
in the reviews section.
Dear Grandpa,
I have a quick temper; a short fuse. Something my father says I get from my you (and he should know!). It's not like I have an anger management problem or anything. I'm just intense. Sometimes I get that feeling like I just need to go into an open field and scream it all out. Yell, kick, jump up and down, let it go. It's just that there are no more open fields in suburban Long Island, especially in my county (close to the city). Today was one of those days.
What made me so angry?
I forgot the date.
I had to look at my watch to remember the date, and I wanted to scream. Right there in the middle of my statistics class.
I forgot it was September Eleventh.
Oh my God. I forgot the day I swore I'd never forget. The day I remember in passing sometimes, when I feel that first cool breeze of fall, or when I hear God Bless America (A song I never knew until that year). The day that thrust into my naive adolescent face the reality of human mortality. The images that make me nauseous. The smells that made me sick. The sound of sobs that tore a hole in my heart. I forgot it. And it makes me feel guilty.
I was in tenth grade. In my English class. In one of those strange ironies of life we were writing a "free response" on what scares us the most. Then we found out something happened. But we didn't know what.
In choir someone told us it had to do with the twin towers.
In Chem. someone told me that some psycho had flown a plane into one of them. I didn't believe her. Can you believe it? I didn't. It was nightmarish. It was a nightmare. It was a Harrison Ford movie minus Harrison Ford and the happy ending. We ran to watch on television. In horror we say them both come down.
We saw the people jumping from the upper levels. We saw the building swallow the plane, and then implode. It's making me shake to remember.
What about the bridges? Someone asked. We suddenly felt vulnerable. We're trapped here. Long Island is an Island, locked by water. What ifs were running rampant.
Teleban, Osama Bin Laden, terrorism. All foreign words; all taking on a new meaning.
And then there were those trying to contact parents. Some never did.
I felt guilty to cry. What right did I have to be crying when other people had really been affected. I didn't loose anyone. But what right did I have to be laughing? To smile? To be happy? When so many were suffering.
That was Tuesday. On Thursday they made another announcement. Suddenly announcements made everyone tense up. The smell that you're smelling won't harm you, they said, it's from the Twin Towers.
Then I really lost it. It smelled like an electrical fire. I just kept thinking how I was smelling all those who had lost their lives, and I lost it.
I t was a horrible year. With the discoveries of people who had left messages saying good-bye once they knew there was no chance of survival. The firefighters who went in to save people and became victims. The police detectives, who had to be called in to ID the bodies. President Bush made his first trip to New York City, and Mayor Gulianni showed the world how strong New York could be.
I went to the second Yankee game, after they reopened the parks for play, and I remember a moment of science so silent, that it burned my eyes and ears. Thousands of people fell silent. Remembering.
Later that spring, when I went to that ball game in Baltimore, where the moment of science at 9:11 pm was less than silent. I was so angry. You weren't there. I wanted to scream at the crowd. You're not from New York. You don't know!
On Long Island we call New York The City. Simply that. Because there is only one city to us and New York is it. We never take the train to New York City, we take it to The City. You have to go through The City to get to The Mainland, so when The City was attacked, we felt we'd been attacked.
I watched the news the other night, and one of the panelists made a crack about 9/11. First of all, I feel that the people who died that day deserve more than 9/11. They deserve September Eleventh. Second of all, he's not from New York. What does he know? Bush isn't from New York. What does he know? What gave him the right to play off our fear for his war?
There is so much to be angry about it's overwhelming. But that anger hides fear. A fear so deep that it's like nothing I've ever felt before. Why did the terrorists use passenger jets? Wasn't it bad enough they wanted to kill themselves? Did they have to bring those others with them? Why innocents? Why? It makes me afraid. They didn't know they were going to die. It makes me so afraid.
It's not just me who's afraid. Last year we had a bomb threat, but they didn't tell us that was what was going on. The announcement said, everyone calmly get your things and go home. People were immediately on cell phones, trying to find out what happened. We went to my house and watched the news for two hours, all different stations, before we finally realized that the problem was only within our town.
Grandpa, I'm scared. What I see scares me. I know I've talked to you about this on the phone, but sometimes it's better to write it out. If I forgot September Eleventh on the second anniversary. What are my kids going to think of it? What If I never make it that far? I always used to think America was safe. Our ocean's protected us. We went to war, but war never came to us. I don't understand it, Grandpa, I don't.
I don't know what I want to hear from you. I guess that everything will be all right, and that we can all go back to who we were. I know that will never happen. You know it too. Maybe that's why I'm writing to you. You must understand what I'm talking about since you were in Korea; that feeling of hopelessness, of fear, and of a total lack of control over your future. It makes me feel claustrophobic. Like I can never escape the uncertainty that my world has become. I know you'll understand that too.
Maybe that's why I'm writing to you, because you understand. Even though you way up there, you still understand. I guess I just need to hear that. Thank you for listening. Well, reading.
Your granddaughter,
Madison Pierce
Dear Grandpa,
I have a quick temper; a short fuse. Something my father says I get from my you (and he should know!). It's not like I have an anger management problem or anything. I'm just intense. Sometimes I get that feeling like I just need to go into an open field and scream it all out. Yell, kick, jump up and down, let it go. It's just that there are no more open fields in suburban Long Island, especially in my county (close to the city). Today was one of those days.
What made me so angry?
I forgot the date.
I had to look at my watch to remember the date, and I wanted to scream. Right there in the middle of my statistics class.
I forgot it was September Eleventh.
Oh my God. I forgot the day I swore I'd never forget. The day I remember in passing sometimes, when I feel that first cool breeze of fall, or when I hear God Bless America (A song I never knew until that year). The day that thrust into my naive adolescent face the reality of human mortality. The images that make me nauseous. The smells that made me sick. The sound of sobs that tore a hole in my heart. I forgot it. And it makes me feel guilty.
I was in tenth grade. In my English class. In one of those strange ironies of life we were writing a "free response" on what scares us the most. Then we found out something happened. But we didn't know what.
In choir someone told us it had to do with the twin towers.
In Chem. someone told me that some psycho had flown a plane into one of them. I didn't believe her. Can you believe it? I didn't. It was nightmarish. It was a nightmare. It was a Harrison Ford movie minus Harrison Ford and the happy ending. We ran to watch on television. In horror we say them both come down.
We saw the people jumping from the upper levels. We saw the building swallow the plane, and then implode. It's making me shake to remember.
What about the bridges? Someone asked. We suddenly felt vulnerable. We're trapped here. Long Island is an Island, locked by water. What ifs were running rampant.
Teleban, Osama Bin Laden, terrorism. All foreign words; all taking on a new meaning.
And then there were those trying to contact parents. Some never did.
I felt guilty to cry. What right did I have to be crying when other people had really been affected. I didn't loose anyone. But what right did I have to be laughing? To smile? To be happy? When so many were suffering.
That was Tuesday. On Thursday they made another announcement. Suddenly announcements made everyone tense up. The smell that you're smelling won't harm you, they said, it's from the Twin Towers.
Then I really lost it. It smelled like an electrical fire. I just kept thinking how I was smelling all those who had lost their lives, and I lost it.
I t was a horrible year. With the discoveries of people who had left messages saying good-bye once they knew there was no chance of survival. The firefighters who went in to save people and became victims. The police detectives, who had to be called in to ID the bodies. President Bush made his first trip to New York City, and Mayor Gulianni showed the world how strong New York could be.
I went to the second Yankee game, after they reopened the parks for play, and I remember a moment of science so silent, that it burned my eyes and ears. Thousands of people fell silent. Remembering.
Later that spring, when I went to that ball game in Baltimore, where the moment of science at 9:11 pm was less than silent. I was so angry. You weren't there. I wanted to scream at the crowd. You're not from New York. You don't know!
On Long Island we call New York The City. Simply that. Because there is only one city to us and New York is it. We never take the train to New York City, we take it to The City. You have to go through The City to get to The Mainland, so when The City was attacked, we felt we'd been attacked.
I watched the news the other night, and one of the panelists made a crack about 9/11. First of all, I feel that the people who died that day deserve more than 9/11. They deserve September Eleventh. Second of all, he's not from New York. What does he know? Bush isn't from New York. What does he know? What gave him the right to play off our fear for his war?
There is so much to be angry about it's overwhelming. But that anger hides fear. A fear so deep that it's like nothing I've ever felt before. Why did the terrorists use passenger jets? Wasn't it bad enough they wanted to kill themselves? Did they have to bring those others with them? Why innocents? Why? It makes me afraid. They didn't know they were going to die. It makes me so afraid.
It's not just me who's afraid. Last year we had a bomb threat, but they didn't tell us that was what was going on. The announcement said, everyone calmly get your things and go home. People were immediately on cell phones, trying to find out what happened. We went to my house and watched the news for two hours, all different stations, before we finally realized that the problem was only within our town.
Grandpa, I'm scared. What I see scares me. I know I've talked to you about this on the phone, but sometimes it's better to write it out. If I forgot September Eleventh on the second anniversary. What are my kids going to think of it? What If I never make it that far? I always used to think America was safe. Our ocean's protected us. We went to war, but war never came to us. I don't understand it, Grandpa, I don't.
I don't know what I want to hear from you. I guess that everything will be all right, and that we can all go back to who we were. I know that will never happen. You know it too. Maybe that's why I'm writing to you. You must understand what I'm talking about since you were in Korea; that feeling of hopelessness, of fear, and of a total lack of control over your future. It makes me feel claustrophobic. Like I can never escape the uncertainty that my world has become. I know you'll understand that too.
Maybe that's why I'm writing to you, because you understand. Even though you way up there, you still understand. I guess I just need to hear that. Thank you for listening. Well, reading.
Your granddaughter,
Madison Pierce