A piece I wrote fifteen years ago today.
This morning I got to work, put on the TV in the waiting room, and sat down with my coffee. And I knew for sure it was going to be one of those unbelievable, unacceptable days that test your faith, confidence, and ability to resist hate.
There was no possible way to focus on dentistry today. Thousands of people had said goodbye this morning not knowing hate would touch that farewell one final time.
And as I’m writing, I’m not sure I’ve ever met any of today’s victims in New York, Washington D.C., or Pennsylvania. But if I take some to adjust my perspective a little, it’s clear I know them all. I see them every day. I’m one myself-we all are.
When I was a little kid, I could watch World War II movies just about all day long. When I wasn’t living the war vicariously on film, I was doing my best out in the neighborhood trying to outflank all my little combat buddies.
One lazy Saturday afternoon I was savoring a rare soda with my favorite salami and cheese sandwich, watching war being played out on the screen by “B” actors; couldn’t get much better. My brother happened to walk by, glance at our undersized TV, and make an observation. I was probably only eight or nine years old but I still clearly remember his words. My brother and mentor Jay asked, “How much fun would it be if that was Monterey Park and those people were you and me and mom and dad?”
This morning those people were family. They were on their way to work just like you and me. They were standing around talking about Monday Night Football just like you and me. They were sitting in wheelchairs, stranded in hallways; they were someone’s parents, sons or daughters, left in a burning crumbling building, waiting to die.
Turned out today wasn’t just another day of dentistry and going to the gym. Turned out today may have stolen what little innocence that’s left.
On October 18, it’ll be 34 years that I experienced another day like today. It was personal then too. Again, there was a brief conversation and my brother Jay was involved. Though it happened so long ago, I still remember every word. The call came from the U.S. Consulate in Mexico City on Sunday morning; it lasted about a minute. Jay was in Mexico City attending the 1968 Olympics. My dad and I had been in the living room watching football and mom was at church. Dad was disturbed that the caller insisted on speaking only to me. We later learned Jay had listed me as his beneficiary.
It was another day like today; another unspoken farewell, another missing explanation…and the first day of my life without my big brother.
Today was one of those days we’ll never forget, never forgive, and never really understand.
John Lennon dared to imagine a world without days like today but then again, even he expected to be dismissed as just another dreamer.
Maybe the best we can do is just take a minute, slow down, and appreciate the time we’re privileged to have with the people we love and will never stop missing.
