Where Was I?

There’s been a list floating around and, while I was too young or too wrapped up in myself to remember all but one of the incidents I did want to put in my two copper on one of the topics.

September 11th, 2001

I was a senior in High School, just started my last year and ready to graduate in 2002 (hoo-dee-hoo two-oh-two)

Anyway, the first plane hit right before my sister and I were off to school, the second hit while we were in transit. I saw my mom watching the news and thought it was an accident. Something happened and the plane crashed in a horrible spot, that was all. Tragic, yes, but not nearly the same impact as what really had happened.

Like Drotara the full effect of what happened didn’t hit me until I was actually at school. That was where I heard about the second plane and that this had been an actual attack and not just a horrible accident.

That day was one of the scariest days in my life. Students were confined to their classrooms, all of the televisions were on, all playing the same channel. I remember I had to go somewhere during one of the class periods. I got my pass (usually not needed) and headed out. The hallways were absolutely barren.

As my numb feet paced the lenolium tiles off-sync reports of the devastation came to my ears, louder and softer as I passed classroom after classroom. Occasionally I’d look in and see every student, every single student riveted to the screen.

That was the part that struck me the most. Every student, from those wrapped up in social maneuverings to the die-hard sports fans, from the aloof artists to the deadbeat druggies, from the teenage mothers to the scholastic elites, every last one was riveted to what was happening that day in America’s eastern states.

What only struck me later, and sobered me even more, was the fact that I’d predicted something like this would happen. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one with this idea, but as I was growing up and learning of history I saw stories of “where were you when…” just like this one. I also knew that I hadn’t lived through anything like that. I had long cradled the pet theory that, while I was still young something terrible would happen to define my generation, and I am very sad that I was right.

When I graduated High School later that year 30% of my graduating class had chosen to go into the armed service. Many of these men and women had been the ones who skated through classes without drive or purpose. I’m not sure what point I’m trying to make, I’m sure there’s a moral in there somewhere be it bitter-sweet or not. Dredging up those memories brought me close enough to tears for one day.


Ok, I lied, I’d like to blurb a bit about where I was and what I was doing when Katrina hit.

First of all, I live in the midwest. We get tornados. Tornados are fantastically destructive but last for only minutes at most. A storm will sweep in, we’ll get a tornado warning for our county then keep an ear open for the siren and an eye on the sky.

A hurricane, however, is something that’s a little hard for me to fathom. It’s an actual storm, that swirls like a tornado,  only exponentially larger and lasting for quite some time, long enough to be named. The thought of weathering such a storm frightens the holy bejezus out of me and visions of LA in the movie Day After Tomorrow dance through my head.

That’s where I’m coming from when I tell you that a week before Katrina hit I finally managed to get back in touch with a very dear High School friend of mine. When Katrina hit I had either just graduated college or was very near to doing so and we had been out of touch for a number of years.

All I remember from those days and weeks was hoping fervently that my friend (who was in southern Mississippi) and her family were allright and wondering why our president was still on vacation.


Would you like some hapiness injection? In WoW-land we downed Rage Winterchill last night! We’re only partially officially in t6! I say only partially because we’re still working on Kael and Vasj, though we do have every intention of downing them.

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