A Stroll Down Trauma Lane
This past weekend, Claudia and I enjoyed a couple of days visiting New York City. It'd been a while since we spent a weekend in the Apple, so we were looking forward to it. We wined and dined like royalty (Sparks Steak House, Casa Mono and Otto). We saw a great exhibit down at the Seaport. In all, it was a terrific weekend.
Except for one portion.
We took the 4 train down to Fulton Street (by the Seaport) and decided to turn west first. We walked to the big hole in the ground that was the former site of the World Trade Center. As we approached, the sense of "vacation" left us. From that moment, and until we left, it was a time of reflection, a time of sadness, and a time of our personal memories of that particular day five and a half years ago.
The first thing we noticed was the sign along the fence. It gave a moment-by-moment account of the events of 9/11. The time each plan took off from their respective airports all the way through the crash of Flight 93 in Pennsylvania. Claudia noted how she and I had our own accoount of what happened -- I as an all-too-close witness and she as a wife out of communication with her husband as the events unfolded around her.
We pointed out to each other what we were doing when the first plane hit, when the second plane hit, and so on. We'd heard it from each other so many times before -- since moving to Milford where the events were witnessed from television, Claudia and I have been asked to retell our stories numerous times. This time, however, we were telling it for each other.
We looked up names of the people we knew who had died that day. Michael Lynch, a friend of Claudia's who was a firefighter. Joe Riverso, a Kantor Fitzgerald employee who also tended bar in White Plains and was there when Claudia and I first met.
Slowly, we became aware of the people around us. We didn't notice at first -- I think we were too struck by our own memories. Then we saw them. Tourists still came to take pictures. I saw people photographing themselves in front of the fence as if it were the Lincoln Memorial in Washington. Then I saw the leetches, those who were selling photographs of the World Trade Center and the events of the day. They sickened me.
Perhaps I was more angry than I should have been. Maybe the fact that 9/11 was more than an historic event to Claudia and me clouds my opinion on the subject. But I saw the future in the actions of the people around me. 9/11 is losing its place as a tragic event in American history. It's becoming an attraction.
And for someone who has lived through it, I find that to be a tragedy in itself.
Except for one portion.
We took the 4 train down to Fulton Street (by the Seaport) and decided to turn west first. We walked to the big hole in the ground that was the former site of the World Trade Center. As we approached, the sense of "vacation" left us. From that moment, and until we left, it was a time of reflection, a time of sadness, and a time of our personal memories of that particular day five and a half years ago.
The first thing we noticed was the sign along the fence. It gave a moment-by-moment account of the events of 9/11. The time each plan took off from their respective airports all the way through the crash of Flight 93 in Pennsylvania. Claudia noted how she and I had our own accoount of what happened -- I as an all-too-close witness and she as a wife out of communication with her husband as the events unfolded around her.
We pointed out to each other what we were doing when the first plane hit, when the second plane hit, and so on. We'd heard it from each other so many times before -- since moving to Milford where the events were witnessed from television, Claudia and I have been asked to retell our stories numerous times. This time, however, we were telling it for each other.
We looked up names of the people we knew who had died that day. Michael Lynch, a friend of Claudia's who was a firefighter. Joe Riverso, a Kantor Fitzgerald employee who also tended bar in White Plains and was there when Claudia and I first met.
Slowly, we became aware of the people around us. We didn't notice at first -- I think we were too struck by our own memories. Then we saw them. Tourists still came to take pictures. I saw people photographing themselves in front of the fence as if it were the Lincoln Memorial in Washington. Then I saw the leetches, those who were selling photographs of the World Trade Center and the events of the day. They sickened me.
Perhaps I was more angry than I should have been. Maybe the fact that 9/11 was more than an historic event to Claudia and me clouds my opinion on the subject. But I saw the future in the actions of the people around me. 9/11 is losing its place as a tragic event in American history. It's becoming an attraction.
And for someone who has lived through it, I find that to be a tragedy in itself.
posted by E-Luv at 9:15 AM
3 Comments:
Yes, what you saw this past weekend was “a tragedy in itself” and you have every right to be angry. In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t say something or do something. (Since your son wasn’t around, perhaps a well-placed Tae Kwon Do kick?) “Having said that,” (as you like to say...) I don’t think you should have been surprised about the leeches you saw. Why? Well, if the current Republican President and Vice President are making money on the lives of the soldiers who are dieing and being maimed in THEIR war of choice (i.e., Halliburton, etc.), how can you blame some lowly, lecherous citizen who’s trying to make a buck at the former World Trade Center site? He’s just following our so-called “leaders”... Republicans “leaders” who are STILL trying to make a connection between the war in Iraq and 9/11 for personal gain. – Tango
Tango,
As much as I despise this administration -- and believe me, I truly despise them -- I do not blame them for what I witnessed over the weekend.
Perhaps it could be better said that I expected more from Americans. Surprised? Given the lack of value we place on so many things here, no I am not surprised.
But I am no less offended.
Your expectations of Americans --for All Americans to behave appropriately -- are too high. - Tango
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