Today was the day we took time to remember Sept. 11. It seemed more appropriate on a workday rather than a Sunday. For most of us it was our work or school day that came to a halt four years ago. I remember rushing to a meeting in the city and seeing the traffic signs change from travel times to
"National Emergency. All Air Travel Canceled." Our greatest fear was "what next?"
Like many, that day changed me, some ways more immediate than others. By the start of the following week I had resigned my job of 5 years, taken on a new position with another company and begun my drift to greater self-reliance, eventually leading me out of the city, into the mountains and into academics.
Every day on our campus we pause at 5 pm as the flags are lowered, neatly folded and carried away, the cannon booming throughout the valley announcing the Retreat of the colors. Anyone caught outside within sight of Retreat stops. Cars pull over. Today we took extra time for this ritual. I stood between two of our older brick buildings, catching the breezes that always blow through, but I could hear from across the field the voices of our students reading the names of their fellow students, our friends, our family, who are serving overseas, and those we have lost. Regardless of where they stand in debates of politics and policies, these students treat each other with respect. Every single day I am thankful to be among these young men and women, to work for them. They wear me down with their energy, or, at least, they wear down my world-weary cynicism, which is a blessing.
On my way home I saw that a company of flags lined the square around the old courthouse and along the shops. They will be put away by tomorrow. Our town has a deep-seated pride that goes beyond citizenship of convenience: new flags, snapping crisply, not faded like so many memories of the day we were recognizing; like so many flag stickers that have disappeared from side windows over the last four years, replaced by non-committal ribbon magnets that won't harm automotive resale values; like the flag hanging from the side of my own cabin that only guests and the occasional delivery person ever sees. It's past time to retire and renew.
"They wear me down with their energy, or, at least, they wear down my world-weary cynicism, which is a blessing."
That is exactly how I feel about the age group to which you refer. They somehow seem wiser, older, smarter, more aware than I was at that age.
Bullshitted by Kelly on September 13, 2005 10:00 AMRSM:
Where the hell do you live? I want to move wherever it is. I'm one of the few native English-speakers in this fine suburb of Washington DC (at least my immediate neighborhood), and the other bona-fide Americans are all moonbats.
There are flags on public/government buildings around here that look like they've been there since Betsy Ross.
Just damn!
Horrabin,
living in the North Georgia Mountains. I work for a senior Military College and there is a small military base just outside of town. We're a bunch of libertarian conservatives and moderate moonbats around here, but everyone treats everyone with respect. We can always tell when walking through town whether someone is from around here. Locals stop their cars so you can cross the street if it looks like you have the slightest intention of doing so. Folks from the city go speeding through, and if they park somewhere downtown, a local will inform them of the local customs of automotive courtesy and advise them strongly to observe them.
A Yankee moonbat buddy of mine showed up to visit last summer around Memorial Day. His first comment driving through town was "Wow, you guys are really big into the flag around here." There are flags all over the place and a cross for each local person who lost their life in a war since the "Civil" War including their name.
It's so much more than just the flag. I hoped he understood that by the time he left.
Bullshitted by RSM on September 18, 2005 11:07 PM