"Mr. G?" asked Jeremy*, "Are we at war?"
"Well, we would be if something like that actually happened." I replied after his friend breathlessly told me they bombed the Pentagon. They being Al Qaida but we didn’t know that. Kids were filing into the classroom and the buzz was different today. There was more talk of explosions and fires and Jeremy told me he saw it on the TV in his previous class. I looked across the hall and saw a picture of what looked like a big building with a lot of smoke billowing out. I turned on the TV in my classroom and there it was. The Twin Towers of the World Trade Center were both on fire! No, wait; this was film footage of a few minutes before as one of them collapsed. The reporter switched over to the smoky ruins of the Pentagon. I switched channels and saw universal coverage; people running and sirens and dust and smoke and confusion and disbelief. I watched as a dense cloud of creamy gray smoke and debris rained down upon the street completely engulfing a man who had tripped and fallen to his hands and knees. Someone has to help him he’s – oh my God! In the back of my head I could feel them. I turned and faced my students and every one of them was looking at me. Everyone asking me without so much as a word for something, anything.
I will never forget those eyes. Frightened and innocent eyes pleading with their teacher to make sense of what they were witnessing. Clueless and heartbroken eyes that, for the first time in my life, were depending on ME to make things right, to make things better. But I was their reading class teacher. In fact, I was their substitute reading teacher until their real teacher came back from maternity leave. Somehow I had lucked out and got a six week assignment basically babysitting these kids until she came back. I had a curriculum and a general outline of what Mrs.Vickers* wanted done and the lunch program was top notch as far as cafeterias were concerned. I didn’t want to be here, I certainly didn’t want to be standing here in front of a bunch of 11 and 12 year olds when something this monstrous was taking place. I wanted to go home, I wanted to glue myself to the TV and see what was going on but there those eyes were.
I switched off the television.
We had been watching the coverage for a good ten minutes and I gathered my thoughts and explained to my kids that, yes, we were attacked by some people that didn’t like us and wanted to do us harm. Yes, it’s so terrible and so awful but there was nothing that we could do here in little Baltimore and that we had to trust the people whose job it was to act when something like this happens so that we can keep on with our lives. The only thing we could do right now is the things we had control over namely what it was we were together for; our classroom and the homework that I had assigned last night. I told them we had to know that people would find out who did this and punish them and the police and firemen would help all the people who were hurt and injured.
I told them that if they were of the mind to then I would suggest that they pray.
We finally began the period with our lesson and I gathered their homework informing them that it would be pointless to assign anything this evening. At lunch, my fellow educators saw more images and learned more details but were awestruck with the horror, but for the remainder of the day, each class that came in got a similar debriefing and life went on as it was supposed to (later, I found out that I was the only class that did this) if albeit, a little quieter than normal.
In fact for the next few days I began each class with a debriefing, and answered questions they had before we continued our lessons. At one point one of the kids asked me why the Palestinians were dancing and happy. I asked the class how many love Ohio State and nearly everyone of course raised their hand. Then I asked them how many people hate Michigan and, though fewer, hands were raised. I asked them don’t you think that people who like Michigan, if they were to learn about Ohio State would love Ohio State? So people who hate Ohio State sing and dance when we lose just don’t know enough to know better. It was a weird; I swear I saw comprehension cross their faces regarding analogies. I assigned homework for over the weekend and was heartened when some of the kids complained because we were the only class that did. It was the week from Hell but things were showing signs of returning to normal.
September 11th, however, nothing was normal. As school let out and an inordinate amount of parents clogged the parking lot I raced home as fast as my Saturn would go. I noticed the price of gasoline at the Meier store had skyrocketed up to 1.79, 1.89 and 1.99 but I had filled up the day before and my TV was waiting. My wife and I gathered around with our daughter and we were captivated by the now familiar footage for a good six hours until we were too numb to shut it off.
Thankfully, my daughter asked if we could watch a movie. Anything. So I picked up the new one we just got from somewhere and popped it into the VCR. It was called Air Force One with a perennial favorite: Harrison Ford playing the President who just announces to the world that we don’t deal with Terrorists. He then gets kidnapped by terrorists.
President James Marshall hasn’t left the plane in the pod, he’s aboard AF1 and the tension mounts as Gary Oldman cuts a formidable figure as the man who seemingly has America by the short hairs. It’s a great film and I watched as transfixed as I was with the coverage hoping that what I told those kids today would come into fruition. I hoped that our 43rd administration would execute all necessary steps to bring those murderers to justice. Some kind of transfer had taken place as we watched because when President Marshall finally utters the signature line of the film: "Get off my plane!" we literally cheered and choked on tears. I had never been so emotional before seeing a movie but our hero had defeated the terrorists and we would too! I just knew it. President Bush would get these guys and maybe even turn into a decent president after all. We all went to bed that night absolutely drained but with just a bit more hope.
I have not been able to see that film since because of the deep betrayal I’ve felt from this administration’s handling of the terror attacks on our country. It turns out that my faith in this administration to deal with its responsibility towards the safety and security of its people was misguided. Instead of taking advantage of the good will fostered on us by an empathetic world, this administration simple took advantage. Instead of joining with our allies and others to promote peace and stabilize a violent and dangerous world with a foreign policy based on the rule of law and justice, this administration promoted its own agenda based on perpetual war and distraction from its own personal gain.
I fuckin trusted you, Bush! Even as people mocked you for reading My Pet Goat and I recalled my own inadequacies in front of my own classroom full of kids I fuckin defended you! Six (SIX) fuckin years later and Osama Bin Laden is STILL fuckin showing up on video tapes! I was counting on you, Bush!
I was counting on you to do your job. Now I’m counting the days when you and your cabal are out of power. I don’t care if you replenish the ol’ coffers after you’re gone because no amount of monetary success could ever reveal to you what an opportunity you have squandered in vacuous pursuits. No amount of money you could possibly make could make you understand the loss thousands of Americans and tens of thousands of Iraqis have felt because of your self-absorption. How could you know when you have no sense of consequence? How can you ever know the disappointment I felt as your actions made my assurances to those kids in my class that those in positions of authority can and will do their jobs misplaced time and time again? I was counting on you to lead and you let me and the country down.
Still, that glimmer of hope springs into my heart as I see in the distance the day to come when you pass into history. Your place as the 43rd best president we ever had will assuredly increase with each passing administration.
And on that glorious day in January when 44 takes on the yoke of leadership of our country, I secretly hope that person turns to you and says, no matter how odd or strange it may seem:
"Get off my Plane!"
- names changed to protect their spelling.