Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning?

The Attack on Pearl Harbor. The Moon Landing. John F Kennedy's Assassination. The Challenger Explosion. 

All flashbulb memories of the past, where the mind seems to almost take a picture of the moment and circumstances in which you learned the news.

For my generation, It's the World Trade Center attacks.

I would be lying if I said that before September 11, 2001 I was even aware the World Trade Center towers existed, much less their importance. I had traveled to many different fun places growing up, but we never spent much time in big cities. To give you perspective, I remember the first time I drove through Birmingham, Alabama, I was certain it was the biggest city in the country. To me they were all just skyscrapers.

Skyline pre-September 11

I was a senior at Cullman High School, sitting in my English/Lit class trying to pay attention to what I'm pretty sure was yet another paper that was due. Sometime around 8:30 that morning, class was interrupted and our teacher was told that "they'd hit the Pentagon". Well, I may not have ever heard of the World Trade Center, but gosh dangit I'm no uneducated redneck either-- I know what the Pentagon is.

We all kind of looked at each other confused and a little freaked out, and filed our way into the neighboring history teacher's classroom because he had the TV on. I remember sitting on the floor crunched in with my other classmates, watching the replays of the second plane hitting the second tower, and noticing all the reporters on CNN in disarray.

I was scared because the buildings were on fire, but still didn't quite understand the importance of the towers, and didn't understand the idea of terrorism in the USA and especially a terrorist attack. I believed that they'd put out the fires on those floors, and they'd rebuild and everything would be normal within a month's time.

Then about 20 minutes later, one of the towers fell. That was the moment that startled me to the core.

NYC Mayor Giuliani, President George W Bush and New York Gov Pataki

I thought about parents, and my younger sister and younger brother, wondering if they had heard. I thought about my grandparents, because I knew they traveled the country and hoped they weren't anywhere near the city. I thought about my Uncle, who at the time was a fireman in a different state, and hoped he didn't know anyone personally that had sacrificed their lives. Then I felt guilty because I was spared, while so many others lost so much.

A few weeks later, one of my favorite country artists of all time, Alan Jackson, sang a beautiful song about the attacks at the Country Music Awards.I'm fairly certain that there wasn't a dry eye to be found at the Grand Ole Opry that night.

Much like my friend Kate, I tried to be as normal as possible yesterday. I caught some of the memorial services, but you have to remember it was the first NFL Sunday, so ESPN was on by 10am and we were at the Eagles fan club watching the game by 1:00. 

                                                   

I drank a beer. I ate a burger. I sang the Eagle's fight song four times. I ooo'd and aaah'd over Cam Newton's 422 yards. I watched replays of Auburn's close win over Mississippi State from Saturday. I checked my fantasy stats, only to be angry at myself for not replacing Chris Johnson with Tolbert (who sat on my bench and got 3 touchdowns).

I had a good old-fashioned American Sunday yesterday, and gave thanks at the end of the night that I live in the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Before and After

I would have never imagined that my then 12 year old "baby" brother would be fighting for our country 10 years later. I would have never imagined that on my girls weekend trip to New York City next month that we'd be visiting a memorial spanning 16 acres in the middle of  lower Manhattan. I would have never imagined that now every time I board a flight, and someone walks to the front of the plane, a hint of awareness overcomes me. And I never realized that I'd truly know first hand what it really means to be an American and fight for our freedom.

God Bless the USA! 

Freedom is Never Free

It was historically cold the week that we flew to San Antonio’s Lackland Air Force Base to see my brother graduate Basic Military Training. As we bundled up in the stands waiting for him to come out with his flight, we reminisced about just last year at that time, he was in college on a cross-country running scholarship. Now my baby brother had become an airman – a soldier that had dedicated his life for our country’s freedom. 

He came home from college one weekend back in 2009 to talk to my mom. He said he didn’t think college was for him, and felt a calling to the Air Force. My dad was in the Air Force, and Dallas had pictures of stealth bombers and F-15 jets on his walls ever since he was old enough to talk. I think we were all a little taken aback at his decision – it was such an honorable thing to do, but also a little frightening to imagine him decked out in camouflage in a middle eastern desert on a rescue helicopter with an M16.

Basic Training took him 8 weeks to complete. He could send some letters, but could only make a phone call about once a week so communication was difficult. He was pushed to mental and physical limits for 56 days straight days in ways that I can’t ever imagine pushing myself.

Since graduation, he has been at Moody Air Force Base where he specializes in electronic warfare for the Pave Hawk Helicopters. (Fancy, right?!) We got to see one at a recent air show at his base, and for lack of a better term they are just really cool.

He was anticipating a deployment to Afghanistan sometime later this year, maybe October-ish, but none of us really mentally prepared ourselves for that yet. Then, I got the phone call a few days ago that he got orders to go to Iraq…..and was leaving sometime by the end of next week.

WHAT?!

Nobody was prepared for it, not even Dallas himself! He’s spending the next few days getting briefed, trained, and tested before he leaves for his new base thousands of miles away.

He should be there until sometime at the end of this year, and everything I’ve researched so far and heard from my peers is that it’s relatively safe on base. While I'm still reeling somewhat emotionally, I’m trying to look at it as a sort of blessing in disguise: The fact that he’s not going to terror-stricken Afghanistan is in and of itself a blessing, and we also have a good family friend who is in the Air Force that will be stationed at Dallas' base in Iraq during the same time period!

Still, the thought of them in a war zone (in the heat of the desert summer, mind you) is not exactly a springtime stroll in Central Park. Has anyone ever sent care packages to troops before? Looks like I’ll be mailing some very soon and would love some ideas!

Dallas, I’m so proud of you and so glad you have the strength, courage, and confidence to stand up and fight for this country's rights. We’ll all be praying for you and can't wait for your safe return!