My nephew was born on September 14th. He's pretty cute as far as babies go, but my niece is still more entertaining because she actually talks.
And looks at you.
And tells you when she farts. Kind of in a proud way.
As soon as Patton does that, I will like him just as much.
When these kiddos are born I get a little bit crafty. As in glue guns and cool paper, not like devilish and clever. (<-- I am always those things.)
For my niece I made a growth chart, though because I was an idiot first-time aunt, I didn't think to take photos of it. Trust me, it was pretty damn adorable. And pink. Very girly. I am not this, but WHOA my niece is. She has never met a tutu she didn't like. A pink tutu? She will cut a bitch to get that shit on. WITH SPARKLES??!?! She will murder you in your sleep. Or in your awake, even.
Since I am now a crafty growth chart veteran, I came up with an even better design this time. Or, I just copied this one from Etsy. WHATEVER.
I think mine is better. I took this idea and I improved it.
RIGHT?! That's pretty freaking sweet.
And I even wrapped it all cute:
^That's baker's twine and recycled brown paper, all found on Amazon.
I am gloating a bit but that's really fine with me. I don't feel bad because this was my one crafty effort for the year. Now I will need to reboot before I can be creative like this again.
Evidence of the infinite factor of adorable cuteness of Presley, or, as I like to refer to her, The Peej:
I am sure people are tired of all the 10-year anniversary stuff you’ve been fed all weekend. But I felt reflective these past 48 hours and I felt like sharing. This is why I have a blog after all.
I was sitting in my Poetry class the fall of my junior year with Professor Reiss – who was an ass, by the way, and probably the worst professor I have ever had, for varying reasons – and as the class filled up, one of the students walked in and, sort of in disbelief, said, “Um, a plane just hit the Pentagon.” And then we stared at him. And someone asked him if he was for real, and he said, “Yeah. My dad works there.” And we sat dumbfounded yet again.
I wish I could say that Reiss let us out early or that we all ran to a TV to see what was happening but remember what I just said about him above? That whole being an ass thing? Right.
I think we didn’t totally comprehend it anyway. I think we were thinking, hmm a plane hit the building. Weird. Probably some damage.
Little did we know.
After class, I heard a buzz building throughout the halls and realized there were other buildings hit. I booked it over to Shiver Center, where I stood with other students in utter silence as we watched the videos of the towers falling in New York. I don’t remember hearing anything. I just remember seeing it play over and over again. And looking at the students next to me and we all just had blank faces. It was incomprehensible. Some were crying. Most were just struck.
I am pretty sure I skipped the rest of my classes that day since I ended up in my dorm room in Tappan Hall, comforting freshman in my hall (I was the RA). They had just started college in this foreign town with all of these new people and then their world was turned upside down. It was particularly tumultuous for them, I think. And especially for one of my students, who was from New York City.
The rest of the evening is a blur. I am sure I talked with many people and shared many comments of horror and disbelief. I am also sure that I spent time with my boyfriend trying to make sense of it all. I am sure I spoke with my parents on the West Coast. I know I worried about an attack on LA. People were saying that city was next. I then became worried for my own city and hometown friends.
In the days that followed I was both moved to tears, full of pride, and conversely, horrified and angered.
Miami (my alma mater) put up a makeshift paper wall in the Shriver Center for people to express their thoughts. Mostly there were prayers and voices of encouragement on that paper, written in sharpies. But there was also hatred expressed.
The fall of 2001 was only a few months before I was going to be moving to Europe to study abroad. The fallout from this event in New York was to have consequences and impressions on my life for the entire time I lived abroad. But that first week after the attacks was when I first realized the hatred man carries for others.
I remember hearing about an Arab student getting beat on our college campus. Because they were Arab. Because I am SURE they planned those attacks. It was as if the anger was so full, so pronounced and red and hot, that those white students boiled over and the first brown person they saw received the brunt of that white-hot hatred.
I hated people that day.
But the people I hated were Americans. I was more angry at those students and the students saying racial slurs than I was at the hijackers. The hate that spurred those pilots to do what they did, while not excusable, is sad to me. It is something I can accept as a casualty of influence and of terror on their own part. Never excusable.
But the hate that came from those privileged white students was worse in my mind. Or at least on the very same level. Hate begat hate.
When I moved to Luxembourg a few months later I was warned that it was a dangerous time for Americans abroad. I decided to tell people I was Canadian. For two reasons. One, for safety and two, because it redirected hateful comments from Europeans. There was a lot of hatred and anger toward Americans, let me assure you.
There was a feeling that Americans deserved the attacks, because of our meddling past and present. I can’t 100% say I don’t agree to some extent. I sat in a train on one trip and listened silently while a woman lectured me on American foreign policy for close to the entire three-hour trip it takes to get from Luxembourg City to Paris. And she had some very valid points. She was very resentful. I don’t blame her.
On the flip side, I had a resident in Nice, France, come up to me and tell me that, “the USA is in my heart always. You are in my heart!” And that was pretty amazing. But I was still an ex-pat walking around in a fog of paranoia. At a store in France I saw a person leave a black duffle bag next to a shelf and walk away. I told the security guard. I was afraid it was a bomb.
Distrust hasn’t completely left my system yet, but compassion never, EVER did. It left others though. My compassion extended, and still extends, to all those Muslim-Americans who felt and still feel the wrath of Americans and others. I have felt that wrath. I have turned the mirror on my own country and seen it for better or for worse. And there is better for sure. But there is a lot of worse. That black part of our psyche as a country is what fuels my bitterness and frustration at ignorance.
Because someone is Muslim doesn’t mean they want to blow up towers. And when politicians add to the hate, it’s despicable.
So yes, I am still affected 10 years later. I think this country was sent into a tailspin of fear and fear mongering after 9/11/2001. It’s still evident.
I still hate people sometimes. But I do remember the vigils and the speeches and beautiful parts that came from this tragedy. And that part still exists today.
If you’ve been reading about this adventure here and here, you’ve already heard about how sad it made me to make the decision to sell my old Acura, but how much I do actually like the new Prius C. And I do like it.
After I left the dealership with all my new paperwork, the keys, and a brand new monthly payment, all that was left was to sell the old Acura.
And that was a tiring process as well. I posted the car to Craigslist with an inflated price (by about $500). I have tried to purchase cars of CL before. I know how it works. Everyone tries to haggle with you so you might as well start a little inflated.
Oh, but wait! BEFORE this I went to Carmax, where we had sold our beater Saturn SL1 five years prior, and they gave me a price for the Acura.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!
It was ridiculous. They offered me $2500 under Kelley Blue Book. When I mentioned that fact they said, “KBB isn’t buying your car.” Nope. You’re right. They are not buying it. But their entire reason for existing is to accurately price out cars for buying and selling. So no thank you, Carmax, I will be going somewhere else.
When we took our old Saturn to them they offered us $200 over the value so we’ve previously had good experiences with them. Just be warned: When they say it will take 30 minutes to review the car and give you a quote, they are lying. Both times took over an hour. Just be ready to spend some time there.
Digression! The value of my car was between $9200 and $9400 roughly, depending on your definition of “good” I suppose. I listed it on CL for $10,000. I got tons of calls and emails. I also put the price on the window and got several calls from that avenue. I think the reason for the interest is because of the particular car: Acura RSX Type S. It has a 6-speed manual transmission in it and it can really rip around corners. (I’m getting misty just remembering.)
Most people who called or emailed try to yank me around on price and tried to call me out on my knowledge. Here is a word of advice: Be prepared and know the value of your car and be ready to answer questions. Once I did that, most people backed off. I was also super transparent and put up pictures of the small dents in the roof. I also put the VIN in the ad so people could run a carfax report before calling me. I wasn’t afraid of what it would show. You would be surprised to know how many cars out there are salvaged. I had a clean title.
I met with the first person for a test drive three days after posting the car. It was a girl and she brought a friend with her. They did a test drive and asked all the right questions. She had done her homework too! Girl power! She asked about work done to it and the maintenance coming up. Good for her!
She and I had already agreed on $9500 for the price before we met. I let her negotiate another $250 off the price and held firm. I was impressed with her knowledge.
We then followed them to their mechanic to have the car inspected. If you are buying a car, you should ALWAYS do this. The mechanic said HE would buy this car if they wouldn’t. Yay! All that premium fuel and synthetic oil paid off!
Next stop was the smog testing station. In California, the seller is responsible for providing a smog certificate showing a pass that is dated within 60 days of the sale date. A lot of buyers don’t know this but you will certainly find out when you go to register the car in this state. I knew that little car would pass and when she did we drove to Chase bank so the buyer could hand me $9250 in cash.
Hazah!
It was sold within four days of posting on Craigslist. I never knew it would happen so fast, but because both the buyer and seller (me!) were so prepared and knowledgeable, the sale went super smoothly.
Now all that’s left to do is drive into the sunset with the new Prius C and hope for a fulfilling relationship.
I already wrote about my sad parting with the first car I ever bought myself. I’m still sad about it, but it gets better every day, thank you.
Better gas mileage: the reason for the new car. It was a quicker decision than one might think. In fact, this is par for the course for me. I tend to over think every single decision (ask my partner for verification), but once my brain gloms on to something that is logical enough, that’s it – decision is made.
I saw a commercial for a Prius C last summer and I think that little car stayed in my brain. When the new year rolled around I heard it was dropping at the dealers in March. In February I paid for my first gallon of premium gas that was $4.83. My relationship with the Acura was over. We saw it coming, if we were honest with ourselves.
And those commercials are hilarious. "This dolphin tattoo isn't even cool in an ironic way!"
Moving on.
I started the search. On my last car I started by calling a bunch of local dealers to see who would quote me the lowest number. I commenced this same act with the Prius. This negotiation was a different animal though. The Pruis C was a brand new model and it hadn’t even landed yet. While I was able to get quite a discount off the MSRP on the Acura, this wasn’t as easy.
As I made my calls, I asked for a specific model and color (I had done my homework). I wanted the Package 2 without the sunroof in arctic blue. Almost exactly the same color as the Acura. Don’t judge. Picking the same color made it emotionally easier. It still had Entune and navigation, but I was giving up the leather from Package 3. This car was all about being economical and practical; the opposite of the Acura. (Sigh) It’s like I was suddenly old. Or my age. Whatever.
Because I had called so many dealers (and the blue was a rare color), I got in my own way. When I wanted to pull the trigger at the dealership I chose, they couldn’t get the car. Turns out no one was willing to release the Package 2 arctic blue without a sunroof because some girl had called and asked about it and, “she was a serious buyer.” I was. Just not with all of them.
I was set and ready to go with a broker (my first time using one) who was getting the car from Longo (largest Toyota dealer). But when I test drove the car at my local dealership, Penske Rancho Santa Margarita, my astute partner pointed out to me as we left the lot: “You should give them your business. The sales guy made sure to only talk to you. He was respectful.”
And it was true. So it was decided. I made Penske match the price from the broker and within three days, was driving my new Prius C off the lot.
The only thing left to do was sell the Acura. <crying>
Never mind. I will break it up into a series <adjusts title of post>. Read on!
I loved my Acura. She was this little blue sporty car, with leather seats and a good grip on the road. She cornered well, had a nice growl when you pushed the gas pedal, and I could drop the gears and pass almost anyone on a hill. I LOVED her. And I bought her on my own. She was my first. I wanted to have her forever.
If I had the money (and a partner who wouldn’t divorce me and a garage that could hold three cars), I would have kept her as a fun car, maybe even finally modifying her as a hobby. Because other than changing out the audio and adding in Bluetooth and a reverse sensor, she was stock. I bet she would corner really well if she was dropped a bit.
This photo is of us back in 2006, the year after I bought her. Funny, I've had several hair colors and styles since then but I am back to dark and long.
This was taken for Ask Patty when I worked there. You can even read my article on why I bought her.
I sold her.
And I only cried a little. My partner rolled his eyes and told me to “get over it.”
Sure, I gave her anthropomorphic qualities, but don’t other people do that? I wanted to stay in touch with the new owner actually. The conversation with my partner went like this:
Me: Do you think I could ask the new owner for update pictures of the car? Like, so I can see if they modify her? Him: <screws up face and looks at me like I am at once crazy and an asshole> Me: I guess that’s a little crazy… Him: Yep.
In February I had decided that paying $6 for a gallon of gasoline was out of the question. My Acura required premium gas. (This last weekend I saw premium for $4.83 so it was going to get there!) The prices together with the commercial that featured the cutest little baby Prius, and my card-carrying liberal status meant I needed a hybrid.
We did the math. It basically was a wash. So it wasn’t cheaper to buy a new car, even as a hybrid – it is rarely a good investment to buy any car for that matter – but the monthly cost of gas would be less, and I felt that there was social pressure to do good. Also, if I was being realistic with myself, the Acura was only going to sell for a good amount if I sold it before it hit 150,000 miles. It was already at 136,000.
So the decision was made...stay tuned for more installments.
Screw you Westminster. You and all of your richy bitchy, too important, nose thumbing participants. I'm sorry shelter dogs aren't living in pink houses with sparkly collars and cupcakes so you can feel better about watching TV.
I can say this because I have participated in dog shows as a handler, including the string of Westminster ones (though not the big ones they show on TV). Pedigree attends these shows and promotes adoption events (as well as selling their stuff). Practically everyone involved in these shows - save for a few exceptions - are richy bitchy, too important, nose thumbing people.
While I think that it's fine to still do shows like this, even if it hovers on the line of taste (a la child beauty pageants), I don't think it's okay to purposely go out of your way to denigrate shelter dogs.
From the article: "You people that would rather remain silent, or turn away, or close yourself off from tragedies, or from information, or from discussion, or from things that may not affect you directly–you people are worthless. You people are the reason this world is so completely f---ed up. Because y’all grossly outnumber the people who actually give a shit. And then ignorance reigns. And then oppression reigns. Yes, this is just a commercial. But yes, I just took it there–to a political perspective, to a societal perspective–because at the end of the day, it’s all the same, it’s all relatable."
By severing ties with Pedigree, which does a good job raising money for adoption events, Westminster is saying shelter dogs aren't worthy of the same treatment as their purebreds.
And I don't have a problem with purebred dogs either. Breeds are developed for a reason and often have jobs. People who want to promote that breed and keep it alive and accurate are to be thanked. I think that's great. It keeps dogs diverse.
Know what else is diverse? A shelter full of mutts. (And by the way, many shelters have just as many purebred pups too).
Look at these faces and then I will tell you about them:
These are my dogs. They complete my motley crew of a family.
The one on the left is Crazy Dog. He is undeniably mentally insane and probably a sociopath, and a drain on our patience on a regular basis. He is also the smartest dog I have ever met. He is adopted.
The one on the right is Roxy. She is a joy and bursting with life. I am pretty sure if it was possible for dogs to shit rainbows she would do it. She is a purebred corgi, but she was a puppy mill dog and was only bred because there is a market for purebreds that is merciless. She was then dumped at a shelter when someone didn't want her and had genetic bone issues requiring three surgeries we had to pay for (so far). She is adopted.
And they are both (despite my constant rant of the opposite) wonderful dogs.
These dogs aren't any less important or worthy than the dogs in those rings.
We need to stand up to this kind of bigotry against shelter dogs.
I even started a cause page on facebook (I am one of those people now. I know.).
I started Weight Watchers. Not because I do New Year's resolutions. Because I don't do those. Usually my resolution is to not have a resolution. Just like I give up Lent for Lent.
I started this because I noticed over the holidays that I looked pregnant. Without being pregnant. Typically if your belly looks like there is a small human in it, you want there to actually BE a small human in it. And I know I can just eat less. But if it was up to me alone, that wouldn't happen. I love food too much. And I like rewarding myself. I think I just reward myself too much. (But can you blame me? I kind of deserve it.)
Weight Watchers has you track points and with all of the apps available, it's actually pretty easy. When you are hungry, you are supposed to fill yourself up with fruits and veggies. I like fruits and veggies so this really isn't a big deal. I would rather fill myself up with cookies and brownies, but then that defeats the purpose. There is something that comes with it that no one talks about though. And I know this can't JUST be me. All that fruit and veggie eating is, well, um, cleansing.
I signed up for the program that has you go to meetings. The theory there was that I would feel gentle pressure to make sure I stick to the points so that my weight actually changes from week to week. If I get good at keeping to it, I'll cut the umbilical cord.
My first meeting was last night. Guys, I had to resist the urge to film it. It was... interesting. Have you ever seen Little Miss Sunshine? If not, you need to because it is amazing. The meeting leader or whatever sounded like Richard Hoover (the dad) from the movie. The best way to draw this picture for you is to put some quotes below from the movie, which were almost exactly the kinds of things they say at these meetings:
"There's two kinds of people in this world, there's winners and there's losers. Okay, you know what the difference is? Winners don't give up. "
"Sarcasm is the refuge of losers. "
"Inside each and every one of you, at the very core of your being is a winner, waiting to be awakened and unleashed upon the world….go out and make your dreams come true."
"No hesitating, no complaining and no excuses. I want you to go out into the world and I want you to be winners."
Here is a video I found. These people totally drank the Kool-Aid:
^That's the kind of shit they say there. I'm all for positivity (haha!) and encouragement, but it was pretty surreal. They wanted me to stay even longer since I was new but I left after about 20 minutes. I just want to weigh in and go people. Your propaganda and indoctrination seminars are not something I am interested in.
Anyone else go to those meetings and feel the same?
I’m not one for holiday letters. This is evidenced by the fact that I have only written one other holiday letter ever. This is because generally they aren’t all that exciting. (I think if we were honest with ourselves, we would agree. Am I right?) If you have written a letter and mailed it to me or plan to do so, don’t worry! I will read it. And I will be glad to learn about what is happening in your life. And generally they are all cute and very peppy. <--Those are good things to be during this season!
Here are the highlights for us. (Keep reading. I tried to make it funny. Plus I added pictures!)
Last year we bought a house. Buying a house is a terrible experience in itself (as every homeowner can attest to), but we LOVE the house. Win!We have been spending time doing things to the house, including changing the front yard, redoing the guest bath and bedroom, and general decorating. We have learned all about the benefits of owning tools, specifically tape measures and levels. Whether or not we use them every time is an entirely different story.
Roxy tried to make friends with the dog next door and failed miserably. This did not come as a surprise. (Crazy Dog was not invited to partake in the friendship making. I can’t blame them.) So in lieu of playing with friends, she busied herself helping with the decorating and painting that has been our life this past year. She’s REALLY excellent at holding down drop cloths.
Evidence:
Crazy Dog has managed to successfully look adorable for another year, yet still make our lives miserable. So it was a productive year for him. He also discovered he was totally cool with lounging in dirt if that dirt was from his very own yard.
More evidence:
Breanne abandoned her old career to pursue college counseling. She joined the staff at Collegewise in June, a group of unbelievably funny and talented people (and we aren’t adding that in because they are receiving this letter…. well, not entirely anyway) and she received her certificate of college counseling from UC San Diego this December.
Oh! And we bought a horse. Breanne turned 30 this year and figured what the hell? She’s wanted one her whole life anyway. Her name is Sassy and she’s cuter than the dogs even. Since we ran out of room, we will end there. (Not so painful, right?)We love you all dearly and wish you the best for the holidays.
Because I sure as hell am not beating myself up over not posting a third time. Enough already! This trip was supposed to be enjoyable and now it just haunts me.
So I am combining Munich and Berlin into one post and calling it my Germany Post. The last one was my France Post. See? A trend.
After the few days in Paris, I wasn't ready to leave, though I am not sure many people would say they were. Unless you were my partner, who would then make some dumb joke about the French surrendering and hop on the first train out. Who am I kidding? He wouldn't even go there in the first place. This is why I needed a buddy.
So Munich.
I loved it. I didn't know that I would love it so much. It might have been that the first day there we rode bikes all over the city and drank beer in a beer garden, but then again I wouldn't have wanted to ride bikes in Paris. Or in Berlin for that matter, which we were originally planning to do. It would be like doing a bike tour in downtown LA. With traffic. Or better yet, a bike tour of the 405 freeway. On CARMAGEDDON! Just kidding. We all know THAT was way overblown.
So bikes.
We rode these little bikes with bells on them and stopped at major tourist spots to get the Cliff's Notes version from Mike's Bike Tours. The bikes had little baskets and everyone got a Schnauzer puppy at the end. Well, not that last part but if I ever open a bike tour in Germany I will totally do that.
Before we got into Munich though there was the train. The overnight train that was cute and had fluffy duvets and even came with individual champagne bottles for each of us. I was thinking, finally I will get some sleep. HAHAHAHAHA.
The train stopped somewhere every 30 minutes which meant I woke up every 30 minutes from rolling from one side of the bed to the other. So while the comforters were impossibly fluffy, the train was terrible for sleeping. But hell, I thought, I can deal. Holy Moses, I CAN NOT deal. When we got to Munich I told Jen I felt like I was on a boat. Even while standing still. And I get seasick people. It was kind of overall shitty.
But then! Then we rode these glorious bikes and I wore my jaunty Paris scarf, and I drank some delightful beer and ate what I will now refer to as "The Most Wonderful Cheese-y Garlic-Y Dip Thing Ever." And then I felt okay. Well, until a few hours later. Actually until I landed in LAX to be honest. I felt like I was on a boat for about 6 days. THIS IS NOT PLEASANT.
There is so much history in Munich, being that it is pretty much the beginning of the Third Reich and Hitler. We saw Dodger's Alley and other historic places.
My favorite place in Munich was the entire city, but aside from that, it was the English Garden. People were playing with dogs, strolling, biking, RIDING HORSES, and nakedly sunbathing. It was like living in a Disney movie, but with nudists. So, basically, awesome.
In that garden, at the edge, is a place where people river surf. No. Really.
In between all that Disney-like fun, there was Dachau. I know, right? Sorry to ruin your day. I don't even know if I can properly write about it. So I will leave you with one of the images that will be in my mind forever:
Oh, and for more levity, I bought a legit dirndl (but cut the skirt shorter) when I was there and I wore it just last week for Halloween:
And on our last night there, I cried. Not really. But on that last night we ate at the oldest restaurant in town and flirted with a much older businessman who bought us wine in return for the company. When we were there, I asked the waiter if he could speak english (in German) and he said "a little" so then I asked him if he could speak French (in French) and he shook his head like, no way! It was important because I wanted to know what something was on the menu. He then said, in English, "I think you call it Leopard."
Um....
Jen and I looked at each other and said, "No. No I don't think that's right."
Turns out he meant rabbit because he was thinking "lapin" which is rabbit in French.
So I ate that. The rest of my Munich photos are here.
Then we went to Berlin, where I liked the city the least of all three cities. But that didn't mean I didn't enjoy it or even love it. Because I did. But it didn't make heart beat faster and my lungs fill fuller with air like Paris did, and it didn't make me feel giddy and full of Bavarian good cheer like Munich did.
The history there is palpable. And the dichotomy of seeing several-hundred-year-old buildings next to a building that was demolished just short of 100 years ago, was in a different way... breathtaking. But sad. Yet Berliners are hopeful, pleasant people, for the most part. Berlin has more of a Parisian air than Munich does, but it lacks the romance. Germans are RULE FOLLOWERS. In fact, they would never write that in all caps, because it sounds like yelling. WHICH IS AGAINST THE RULES.
Main rule they follow, though we never learned why: Put your goddamn back pack in front of you when in a museum.
No idea. They were VERY insistent on this.
I think I found the history of the DDR fascinating here. I was rapt in museums like Checkpoint Charlie and the DDR museum. It's tough to describe. Here are some photos:
And here is a recording (the audio is what's important) from inside a bomb shelter of the bombing above in the city:
I am sure people are tired of all the 10-year anniversary stuff you’ve been fed all weekend. But I felt reflective these past 48 hours and I felt like sharing. This is why I have a blog after all.
I was sitting in my Poetry class the fall of my junior year with Professor Reiss – who was an ass, by the way, and probably the worst professor I have ever had, for varying reasons – and as the class filled up, one of the students walked in and, sort of in disbelief, said, “Um, a plane just hit the Pentagon.” And then we stared at him. And someone asked him if he was for real, and he said, “Yeah. My dad works there.” And we sat dumbfounded yet again.
I wish I could say that Reiss let us out early or that we all ran to a TV to see what was happening but remember what I just said about him above? That whole being an ass thing? Right.
I think we didn’t totally comprehend it anyway. I think we were thinking, hmm a plane hit the building. Weird. Probably some damage.
Little did we know.
After class, I heard a buzz building throughout the halls and realized there were other buildings hit. I booked it over to Shiver Center, where I stood with other students in utter silence as we watched the videos of the towers falling in New York. I don’t remember hearing anything. I just remember seeing it play over and over again. And looking at the students next to me and we all just had blank faces. It was incomprehensible. Some were crying. Most were just struck.
I am pretty sure I skipped the rest of my classes that day since I ended up in my dorm room in Tappan Hall, comforting freshman in my hall (I was the RA). They had just started college in this foreign town with all of these new people and then their world was turned upside down. It was particularly tumultuous for them, I think. And especially for one of my students, who was from New York City.
The rest of the evening is a blur. I am sure I talked with many people and shared many comments of horror and disbelief. I am also sure that I spent time with my boyfriend trying to make sense of it all. I am sure I spoke with my parents on the West Coast. I know I worried about an attack on LA. People were saying that city was next. I then became worried for my own city and hometown friends.
In the days that followed I was both moved to tears, full of pride, and conversely, horrified and angered.
Miami (my alma mater) put up a makeshift paper wall in the Shriver Center for people to express their thoughts. Mostly there were prayers and voices of encouragement on that paper, written in sharpies. But there was also hatred expressed.
The fall of 2001 was only a few months before I was going to be moving to Europe to study abroad. The fallout from this event in New York was to have consequences and impressions on my life for the entire time I lived abroad. But that first week after the attacks was when I first realized the hatred man carries for others.
I remember hearing about an Arab student getting beat on our college campus. Because they were Arab. Because I am SURE they planned those attacks. It was as if the anger was so full, so pronounced and red and hot, that those white students boiled over and the first brown person they saw received the brunt of that white-hot hatred.
I hated people that day.
But the people I hated were Americans. I was more angry at those students and the students saying racial slurs than I was at the hijackers. The hate that spurred those pilots to do what they did, while not excusable, is sad to me. It is something I can accept as a casualty of influence and of terror on their own part. Never excusable.
But the hate that came from those privileged white students was worse in my mind. Or at least on the very same level. Hate begat hate.
When I moved to Luxembourg a few months later I was warned that it was a dangerous time for Americans abroad. I decided to tell people I was Canadian. For two reasons. One, for safety and two, because it redirected hateful comments from Europeans. There was a lot of hatred and anger toward Americans, let me assure you.
There was a feeling that Americans deserved the attacks, because of our meddling past and present. I can’t 100% say I don’t agree to some extent. I sat in a train on one trip and listened silently while a woman lectured me on American foreign policy for close to the entire three-hour trip it takes to get from Luxembourg City to Paris. And she had some very valid points. She was very resentful. I don’t blame her.
On the flip side, I had a resident in Nice, France, come up to me and tell me that, “the USA is in my heart always. You are in my heart!” And that was pretty amazing. But I was still an ex-pat walking around in a fog of paranoia. At a store in France I saw a person leave a black duffle bag next to a shelf and walk away. I told the security guard. I was afraid it was a bomb.
Distrust hasn’t completely left my system yet, but compassion never, EVER did. It left others though. My compassion extended, and still extends, to all those Muslim-Americans who felt and still feel the wrath of Americans and others. I have felt that wrath. I have turned the mirror on my own country and seen it for better or for worse. And there is better for sure. But there is a lot of worse. That black part of our psyche as a country is what fuels my bitterness and frustration at ignorance.
Because someone is Muslim doesn’t mean they want to blow up towers. And when politicians add to the hate, it’s despicable.
So yes, I am still affected 10 years later. I think this country was sent into a tailspin of fear and fear mongering after 9/11/2001. It’s still evident.
I still hate people sometimes. But I do remember the vigils and the speeches and beautiful parts that came from this tragedy. And that part still exists today.
