I was listening to Alan Jackson’s song on the radio this afternoon and began to ponder just where was I on September 11th. Not where I was physically, but where I was idealistically and politically. One line in the chorus of Jackson’s song pretty well described me at the time
I watch CNN but I’m not sure I can tell you the difference between Iraq and Iran.
News from around the world was way off my radar. As the busy single mother of two active teenage sons, my plate was full. If it didn’t affect me in my daily life, I pretty much ignored it. My politically minded sons would rant and rave about this and that going on “over there” and I just didn’t get it. Honestly, sadly, didn’t really care.
Then came that September morning.
Suddenly “over there” was a bit closer. But looking out my bathroom window the morning of September 12th, the peaceful pastureland and pond at our home, the cows and horses grazing, the flock of turkeys running through my backyard, all that had happened the previous morning still seemed very far away. The pictures on my television were real, the grief of a co-worker who’s father was retired NYFD was real. My ears perked up a bit. I started paying a little more attention. But it was still far away.
A year later my youngest son started talking about joining the Army. Not yet 18, I discouraged him from making such a serious decision so soon and I refused to speak with the recruiter myself. I had nothing against military service. My father and brother had both served honorably. But this kid was mine and I couldn’t stand the thought of sending him “over there” perhaps never to return. My son is a determined young man, and despite my objections, he joined the Army on the delayed entry program one day after his 18th birthday. It was December 2002. We had gone to war in Afghanistan over a year earlier. The invasion of Iraq would begin in three months. My son was scheduled to report to basic training in eight.
Those eight months flew by as time does these days. Every time I would think about his reporting date I would push it out of my mind. After all, it was his senior year and we had all that to look forward to. I hoped with all my heart that the day would come when he would change his mind. That day never came and one August day his then girlfriend and I kissed him goodbye for the recruiter to transport him to the bus that would take him to basic training at Ft. Jackson, SC. “Over there” moved a little closer.
My son graduated from basic training the last week of October 2003. He was leaner, more mature and more disciplined. A man stood where a few weeks before there had been a boy. He immediately began his AIT training at Ft. Jackson. During his Christmas leave we anxiously awaited news of his first assignment. One afternoon he came to my office and told me I needed to sit down. My heart was in my throat as I sank into my chair. He told me he was going to Korea. I don’t remember what I said to him. I do remember weeping when he left. My relief was palatable. Korea was very far away from home. But no one was shooting at soldiers there.
Still I was so uninformed and naïve. My older son had to show me where Korea was located on the globe. I had a general idea. I knew the history there. My dad had been stationed in France during that era and I had watched M*A*S*H for goddsakes.
But I began paying a bit more attention. I openly discussed my disdain for George Bush and his policies. I paid more attention to the election in 2004 than I had since my first election in 1980. But my son was safe for at least a year. I could breathe a bit easier. Then not long into his first year in Korea he extended for another. At the time, soldiers who were deployed in other areas were not being redeployed to Iraq and Afghanistan. Hopefully we would be out by the time his tour in Korea was over.
My son returned from Korea in February of 2006. He had married a fellow soldier in Korea and soon they were expecting a child. And…..he had orders for Afghanistan. Again, as with his initial enlistment, I put it out of my mind. I hoped something would happen, that orders would be changed or that hopefully it would be over and everybody would come home. But on February 9, 2007 he kissed his wife and week old daughter goodbye and boarded a plane for Afghanistan. “Over there” was breathing down my neck.
I put out my yellow ribbons and hung the Blue Star banner on my porch. I listened more. I read more. I learned the difference between Iraq and Iran. I started to educate myself on the world’s affairs for the first time in my life. What was going on “over there” now affected me in my daily life.
In late spring of 2007 we learned that a local young man had lost his life in Afghanistan. A few days later I had the opportunity to speak to my son online and told him about it. He double-checked the dates with me. He told me he was filling in for someone else in the Operations Center that night and he believed he took the “man down” call. I was stunned. Two young men from the same small southern town, thousands of miles away at war, one mortally wounded, and one who wasn’t even supposed to be taking calls receiving the call for help.
“Over there” had come home. And the world was suddenly a very small place.
And something in me clicked.
Never again would I feel the same about the world. Never again would I feel the same about the political process and my part and responsibility in it. And never again would I stand idly by while the world revolved around me.
I have become active in the political process. I make phone calls, write letters, lobby legislators. I campaigned for Barack Obama, made phone calls and knocked on doors. I sign petitions and write emails. Never again will I be satisfied with putting out my yellow ribbon and my Blue Star banner.
So where was I when the world stopped turning???? With my head stuck firmly in the sand (or elsewhere if you prefer). I was innocent or naïve or both, too wrapped up in my own little world to see the big picture.
My son came home safely from Afghanistan in April of 2008. He is now a full time student and veterans advocate. My older son works in politics in a large southern city. Today, I listen when they rant and rave. I ask questions.
The world is a very small place. There is no “over there” and “over here”. I’m glad I’m not in the same place I was on September 11th. I’m just sorry that’s what it took to move me.