United 93

I wasn’t sure I wanted to see this film.  In fact, until this morning, I was against it.  

The review I read this morning changed my mind.  Sure, there’s all the talk about the passengers of Flight 93 as heroes (they were), but what brought me to this film this afternoon was the notion that it should stand not just as a tribute film, but as a reminder of how life has changed since before 9/11.

I spotted two right away – the cavalier approach to airport security, with cursory searches of passengers entering the security area, and the hot meals being served in flight.

Much was made in the press stories about this film that the passengers of United 93 were the first to realize that everything had changed.  I’m not entirely sure that’s true.  By the time they were presented with their final array of choices, the World Trade Center had already been attacked, and both towers were on fire.  It’s more accurate to say that United 93 was the site on which Americans first fought back.

I learned of the terrorist action at around the same time they did, when I got a phone call from the woman I was dating at the time.  She often called during her commutes when the traffic was slow, but this morning, her voice was a mix of shock and anger.  “Someone bombed the World Trade Center,” she said.  Not, “Good morning,” but, “Someone bombed the World Trade Center.”

I had been sound asleep, and it took me a few minutes to process what she’d said.  I could hear the car radio in the background, and she’d listen for a moment and relay the sketchy misinformation to me.  “No one knows who, but they used airplanes.  Both towers are on fire.”

At that point, I remember throwing off the covers and stomping out to the living room and turning on CNN.  

I was stunned by what I saw.  Instead of the burning towers of the World Trade Center I expected, I was looking at the stone edifice of a shorter building.  Seconds later, a banner appeared at the bottom which read, “The Pentagon.”

Oh, fuck, I said.  Oh, fuck.  I gotta go, Sharon, we’re at war.

The guards at the gate to the base where I worked wore body armor and carried firearms.  I’d never seen them carrying shotguns before.  As the off-going duty section leader, I raced back to the security office, where everyone not monitoring traffic through the gate was riveted to Fox News.  

None of us knew it yet, but United 93 had already torn a hole a 115 feet deep in a Pennsylvania field.  

My relief showed up, and together we made what decisions we could about security, which weren’t many.  We made sure our students went to their classrooms.  And we waited.

Just before 0800 or so, Regional Security called and directed us to lock the base down.  Gates on the incoming side were to be closed, no further incoming traffic was allowed, for any reason.  All students and non-essential personnel were to be sent home.  

My boss had been Command Duty Officer the night before, and she arrived just as they were sliding home the bolt on the gates.  She was sent home.  Because she was still responsible for the command, she called my cellular phone, and though I would normally have been considered non-essential, I became her arms and legs inside the fence.  At least, that was the plan.  There wasn’t much for either of us to do but vent our frustration and calm each other’s fears.

I called my older daughter and found her home sick from school.  She’d been watching the television, totally bewildered.  I told her not to worry about me, that I was okay, and that I loved her.  In retrospect, I might as well have just shouted I’m scared shitless!!!! into the phone, because I don’t think she was worried until that moment.

None of us knew that morning, of course, the extent of the changes in our lives.  We simply sat, dazed, and watched as the inexorable moment washed over us.

The next morning, my cubicle mate and I sent e-mails to every ship in the Pacific Fleet: “Need a Tomahawk chief?”  Several ships did.

On the 15th, my cube mate and I met separately with our department head to sign our annual fitness reports.  He’d gone in first, and apparently spoken of our intent to find ships to go to so that we could do our part in the war, whenever we hit back.  

Then it was my turn.  Before I could say more than a few words, the department head slid my fitness report across the conference table in his office and said, “Chief, I just have one question: if you both go, who can do your job while you’re gone?”

“I don’t know, sir,” I answered.

“Neither do I, Chief.  You’re staying right here.”

Shit.  

That afternoon, I suggested that we double the number of training exercises we ran, and for the next eight months, I worked twelve hours a day preparing ships to go to war, an effort for which I received two medals, one as an active duty sailor and the other as a civilian.

Someday, I may travel to Shanksville, Pennsylvania and bury those medals in the field alongside the passengers of United 93.

*     *     *

As I waited for the film to begin, I wondered about my fellow moviegoers; how many of them had anguishing personal stories to tell about that day?  How many could claim some connection to the events depicted in the film?

For me, there are two more connections.  

One of them is fairly direct: a friend was a United flight attendant at the time who did a schedule swap that got her out of flying aboard Flight 93 that day.  It was purest luck; 93 was one of her regular flights.

The other was a strong sense of personal responsibility for the events of 9/11.  I cannot explain many of my reasons for feeling this way, but for years after the attacks, I believed them to be well-founded.  The release of the 9/11 Commission Report has largely changed those feelings in ways I have yet to fully explore.  

There has been a great deal of debate over whether enough time has passed for us to confront the events of 9/11 through the arts.  I do not believe more time should pass; I’m sorry Leroy Neiman didn’t set up his easel and do one of his speedily rendered impressionist paintings while the towers were still standing.

It doesn’t take much observation to conclude that we Americans have become even more decadent, more complacent than we were when Osama bin Laden ordered the 9/11 attacks.  Go stand at any major intersection for twenty minutes and count the number of people holding cellular phones to their faces while driving.  

It’s long past time.  

We should have been reciting the names of the United 93 passengers who fought back every day.  (We’ve got time, after all, now that we can’t say the Pledge of Allegiance.)  (LeRoy Homer, CeeCee Lyles, Sandra Bradshaw, Todd Beamer, Mark Bingham, Tom Burnett, Andrew Garcia, Jeremy Glick, and Richard Guadagno are believed to be the key players in the counterattack on the cockpit.)

It is definitely long past time for heartfelt remembrance.

I keep the flag presented to me at my retirement on the book shelf in my living room.  It is in a triangular display case, the only formal display of career memorabilia I’ve allowed myself.  The flag was flown on September 11th, 2002, over the ship which hosted my retirement ceremony, one of two such flags flown that day.  The other was given to a shipmate who was so badly burned in the attack on the Pentagon that a year later he was still wearing artificial skin on much of his body.

Long past time, indeed.

*     *     *

Now, the movie does contain a few deviations from the official account.  

First Officer LeRoy Homer is shown to be the first man killed by the terrorists, and the pilot is also shown being stabbed to death, both during the initial struggle for control of the cockpit.  The transcript of the cockpit voice recorder shows that one of the terrorists had a problem in the cockpit and asked one of his comrades to bring the pilot back to the cockpit to help.  Clearly, he’d have had no reason to do so if both pilots had been killed in his line of sight.

Second, and perhaps more importantly, the film shows the passengers gaining access to the cockpit and the crash as a result of their struggling for control of the plane.  Again, the CVR transcript proves this was not the case.  While the passengers were futilely bashing at the door with a service cart, the two terrorists in the cockpit considered turning off the oxygen to the passenger compartment, then argued about whether or not to fly the plane into the ground to prevent the passengers from regaining control of the flight.  In the end, the two terrorists rolled the plane inverted and pulled as hard as they could for the ground.

Neither of these discrepancies detract from the essence of the film, which perfectly captures the sense of shock, confusion, and powerlessness we all felt that day.  

Go see it.

Seeing Stars

It was a dark and stormless night.  That part of the sky that was unblocked by the mountains among which our little valley nestled itself was, well, luminous.  There was no moon; all the light by which I could see the shape of my car, the curve of the top of our tent, the lumpy shapes of the rocks, and the grasping branches of the scrubby tree I stood near came from the stars.

If you’ve never been where you can see by starlight, you haven’t lived.

For a moment, gazing up in awe at the early Sunday sky from our camp in the Blair Valley, I considered waking Sihaya…a gentle whisper beckoning her to join me in a few moments of the sublime.  

In a minute, I thought.  I’ll get us a bottle of water to share.

I cringed when I unlocked the car, the silent blinker-flash and the fading-in of the interior lights trod heavily on the stars.  I pulled out two bottles of water and gently closed the trunk.

Twisting the top off one bottle, and tipping it up, I took in more of the sky.  Yes, I thought.  Sihaya will love this.

The breeze that had so whipped the camp fire during our earlier revelry had died; in its place was only silence.  Even the coyotes seemed to be sleeping.

And. then. she. snored.

It’s a gentle sound, and one I find endearing, though I have not yet convinced her of this.  Perhaps I will, someday.

Standing in the flawlessness of the predawn desert, holding one and a half bottles of water, I decide to let Sihaya sleep.  

In that moment, I know that she would love to come see the sky with me.  I am certain of it: next to the case of water in my car, there are two books on astronomy that she brought as an afterthought, in case we should have a moment to give to the sky together.

I love her for thinking of such things.

And I love the sound of her snoring.

Something To Talk About

There’s an e-mail going around the Internet that includes pictures of some California high school students protesting the Immigration Reform Bill by hauling down the Stars and Stripes at their school, turning it upside down and hoisting it below the Mexican flag.  The e-mail suggests that recipients of the e-mail should help defend America’s sovereignty by forwarding the e-mail and the pictures to “every English speaking person” in their address book.

I submit that doing so only broadens the audience of the original “protesters”, and inflames emotions…something that we ought to avoid.

I've never found the practice of Free Speech disgusting or objectionable, even when I find the method or content of a message to be repugnant.  Make no mistake, I think that displaying Old Glory upside down for any other reason than as a distress signal is disrespectful.  Burning one that has not been soiled is repugnant.  But I also think that such things are protected under the First Amendment, and that anyone who resorts to such means of protest is only reaffirming the true meaning and value of the flag.  

Of course, that’s just my opinion, and I fully respect the right of every American to disagree.  
 
I’ll get back to my point.

At my daughter's high school, students walked out of class to protest the Immigration Bill, prompting the school administration to put together a formal discussion of the issues at stake, and two teachers volunteered their time to facilitate the discussion.  Very few students attended; as my daughter pointed out, it's more fun to practice civil disobedience with your friends than it is to learn the facts about the issue.

A wise young woman, she is.  I agree.  I’m continually amazed by the number of people who will argue someone else’s point as though it was their own, without taking the time or trouble to form their own opinion.
 
So, to help foster an educated debate, here’s the summary of the bill.

If you'd like to know more about the current policies of the US Government regarding citizenship and immigration, go here: http://uscis.gov/graphics/index.htm
 
Now, armed with some understanding, I'd like to ask these questions of those who oppose measures to reform our immigration law:
 
1) What do you suggest as an alternate method to prevent identity theft by undocumented immigrants?  Or by those seeking to profit from undocumented immigrants?
 
2) If you're opposed to stiffer penalties for the smuggling of human beings, what do you suggest as an alternate method to curtail the exploitation of economically disadvantaged aliens seeking a better life here?
 
For those in favor of immigration reform, I have these questions:
 
1) Are you comfortable with being required to keep (and possibly carry) a machine-readable identity card that proves your citizenship?
 
2) Are you ready to be required to present proof of employment eligibility every time you apply for a new job?
 
3) Is it okay with you that this bill offers no restrictions against the use of any information gathered for the national employment eligibility verification system by anyone, including the government itself? 
 
Free Speech is a good thing, and always has been.  It's what we, as a nation, are all about.  

Wouldn’t it be nice if we knew what we were talking about?

Update

Clara is doing very well…not quite out of the woods, but her pacemaker is doing the job it was put there for.  

If her progress continues as it has been for the last couple days, she’ll be coming home at the end of next week!

Thank you all for your continuing prayers!

Decrazed

I made myself crazy one afternoon last week.  

I could see it happening, and dagnabbit, I felt powerless to stop it.  

I second-guessed myself into a snit.

I had suggested to Sihaya that we spend an evening in rather than out, and did so late in the day, by e-mail.  When she didn’t respond right away, I began to wonder if I’d been too forward.  What if she thinks I’m suggesting we have sex, and she’s not ready for that?  I’m not suggesting that, but does she know me well enough yet to know that?  

You get the idea.

So, I wrote another e-mail, apologizing and assuring her of my gentlemanly intent.  Thankfully, she was patient with me.

Note to self: Sihaya isn’t going to do anything she doesn’t want to do, and she’ll suggest we do something else if she’s not comfortable.  

Note to self (Part II): Stop being a bonehead.

All of this offers me an excellent opportunity to look at my feelings about relationships.  I want one.  (That’s a good thing, since it appears that I am in one.)  

The truth is that for the first time in quite a while, I find myself in the presence of an attractive woman who not only finds me desirable on several levels, but also actively seeks out my company.

I’m scared shitless.

Not because I’m afraid of having Sihaya want me, but of having her not want me.  And that fear can, if I let it, unman me, as Shakespeare would have put it.  

Not an attractive quality.

I’m paying attention here: Sihaya knows who she is and what she wants.  She’s thoughtful and kind and considerate and direct.  She’s not at all afraid to speak her mind.  I need to trust her.  

She seems to trust me.  And more than that, she trusts herself.  

Note to self (Part III): I can trust her, too.

Prayers Again, Please

Clara is in surgery; the doctors are inserting a pacemaker.

Update: She's through the surgery, and the surgeons were pleased with how well she did. She's a little fighter.

The reason for the pacemaker is the ongoing arrythmia; the doctors had hoped that it would correct itself within a few days, but no such luck. The arrythmia may be caused by the allegedly benign tumors growing on Clara's heart (one manifestation of Tuberous Sclerosis Complex), but (and I'm speculating here) may also be caused by the allegedly benign tumors in her brain. Operating on an infant's heart must be a difficult proposition, since it's about the size of a walnut. The tumors must be truly tiny. And if the arrythmia is caused by the brain tumors, there's almost no point in removing the heart tumors...it'd be an extremely dangerous procedure with no payoff.

Of course, the presence of the pacemaker means that the MRI to look at the brain tumors won't happen, so whatever is happening in her head will be that much harder to diagnose.

Still in the woods.

Since You Asked...

What did I say? I thought I might borrow a few words from Mr. Darcy:

"Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Trivia question: What was Mr. Darcy's first name?

Check out the link to the right...Clara Jane's pictures.

So, I've Already Proposed

It began with a simple post on Craig’s List:

“So, Here's The Thing...I'm not looking for the classic "babelicious babe"...I really don't care about that.  What I want most is creative, smart, funny (and let's face it....sane).  

A little about me:  I am divorced, with two kids, one of whom lives with me most of the time and the other with their mother.  I'm creative, smart, and funny (and reasonably sane), and my friends tell me they appreciate my integrity.  I'm respectful and emotionally generous.  Most of the women I know tell me that I'm sweet.  My kids will tell you I'm a good father, unless you catch them when I'm on their case about something, usually grades.  Having served for 23 years in the Navy, I understand the nature of commitment, and somewhere around here, I have the remnants of some of the self-discipline I picked up during my time in the service.”

I got two responses.  

The first was from a woman who admitted that she smokes.  Thank you, no, even if you’re trying to quit.  

The second got my attention for two reasons: She was writing from work at noon on a Sunday, but cautioned me not to expect a response until Monday if I wrote back, and she asked for a response whether I was interested or not.  “I can handle rejection,” she wrote, “and would definitely want to know!”

We wrote for a few days, and by Wednesday I had her number.  (“You like apples?  I got her numbah.  How you like THEM apples?”)  Our first conversation consisted of a lot of laughter, plans for Saturday morning coffee, and ended with “good night,” instead of “bye”.  

Coffee on Saturday lasted four and a half hours, and included lunch and an hour of playing in the toy store.  It turns out that she is creative and funny and very, very smart.  Inside an hour, I knew I wanted to kiss her.  An hour or so after that, I was pretty sure she wouldn’t mind if I did.  It turned out that I was right.  

Part of the conversation was about Frank Herbert’s Dune, and partly for that reason, I’m calling her Sihaya.

I called her the next night.  I hate the Three Day Rule.  Usually, I follow it anyway, but not with this girl.  

Last Saturday afternoon, I went to see her dance at the Renaissance Faire…she performs Middle Eastern dance with a troupe (the other reason she’ll be called Sihaya here, since the girl in Dune was a woman of the desert).  Before her performance, we walked around to see the sights at the faire, and as we came out of one stall, we had to wait for the Queen and her royal entourage.  As they passed, I bowed and Sihaya curtseyed.  

The Queen stopped.  “And who do we have here before us?” she asked, grandly and not unpleasantly.

I introduced Sihaya, and gave my own name.  

The Queen asked who we are to each other.  I looked at Sihaya, who grinned at me.  “We are dating, Your Highness,” said I.

“And how long have you been thus?” asked the Queen.

Another grin from Sihaya, and I returned it.  “About a week,” I replied.

“In that case,” said the Queen, “We have a game for the two of you.”  She bade us stand in front of her, and face each other.  “We wish you to imagine a time in the future.  Perhaps it will be five years.  Perhaps it will be two.  But, Kurt, We would give you a glimpse into this future time, when on one knee, you ask this beautiful lady for her hand in marriage.  So that is the game We have for you…to ask this wonderful lady to marry you, and to do so in a way that she cannot say aught but yes.”

And so, I did.  And she did.  

She's Here!

Thank you all so much for your prayers!

Clara Jane was born last night at 7:42 pm, at 7 lbs 11 oz, and 19 ½ inches.  She has long black hair, just like her mother did when she was born.  The cardiac arrhythmia continued after she was born, so they whisked her off to the NICU right away, but when I saw her she was pink as pink can be, and working a pacifier as hard as she could.  There was a brief incident during the night when her heart was beating more rapidly than the doctors would prefer, but when I talked to my brother-in-law this morning, Clara was stable and doing fine.  She’s not out of the woods yet, but she’s doing about as well as can be expected.

When the doctor came in to take my sister up to surgery, he looked at the fetal monitor trace and said, “Hmmm…you’ve been having some pretty good contractions there.  We’d have had a baby tonight, either way!”  

So, I’m back at home…my parents got in last night and it was about to get crowded enough that I’d have just been in the way.  I’ll go back up on the weekend and help with all the stuff they weren’t able to get done this week because the baby came early.  

Thanks, again, so very very much, for all your prayers and thoughts.  I know they made a difference.

Please Pray

I just got the call from my sister...the cardiac arrhythmia that the pediatricians were concerned about has happened, and she's scheduled for C-section this afternoon at 4 o'clock. We don't know much yet, and won't until Clara is born, but please, please pray.

Well Met

Got together with a friend this afternoon…a friend I’d never actually met. Ramblin’ Girl was in town for a friend’s wedding, so we met up for a drink in the airport lounge while she was waiting for her flight.

It turns out she’s even cooler in person than her blog would lead one to believe, which basically means she’s really cool: smart, funny, easy to talk to, and cute.

On my way to the airport, I cursed myself for not having a good digital camera, because these kinds of meetings deserve pictures. When we met up, I forgot to ask if she had one with her, and the conversation ranged for a while in several directions, so neither of us thought of it…thus, sadly, I must report that there are no pictures of this Truly Historic Event.

Spending part of an afternoon with RG made me think again about how lucky I am to have such friends, and the often convoluted paths that cross in unexpected ways. I am happier with my life than I’ve been in many years, and friendships such as this one are part of the key.