Remember

Last year, sitting around a wooden stove in the middle of the Russian tundra, vodka bottles and shot glasses strewn about, I had my first real conversation with my new Russian camp mates.

And one of the first things they asked was what 9/11 felt like. What I thought of the event and the consequent wars.

I remember pausing for a moment, shocked by their interest. Maybe it was the jet lag, maybe it was the vodka. But as for the young Russians sitting around me, they wanted to know. The interest was genuine.

I was thirteen when the Twin Towers were attacked. I remember driving into town on the way to school, listening to the radio and thinking how there must be some mistake. The fall morning seemed so peaceful and quiet in the little Montana town.

I remember arriving at school to a host of crying and shocked classmates, and getting into trouble that day for sneaking into the school office to listen to the radio.

Days later, I got into trouble again when, on a class retreat, I snuck off with a friend to listen to President Bush’s address. In Glacier National Park, we stood around a wild land firefighting truck, surrounded by the fire crew and smoke and ash and char. And listened.

I thought about the same smoke and ash and firemen on the other side of the country and it struck home. I remember not sleeping that night as the enormity of the event washed over me.

I learned we were going to war later that fall, sitting in the lobby of a bank waiting for my parents to finish a meeting. Both my brother and I had always been keen on military history, and the fact that we were facing our own war seemed inconceivable.

It became more real when friends, graduating high school several years ahead of my class, began enlisting.

I set a goal toward a career in intelligence, wanting to get my own hands dirty. College proved to be too slow, too boring. Writing and photography, always passions, gelled into a career. They are still gelling.

I’m preparing to spend a week at the end of this month on U.S. military bases as part of a media – military training session; helping prepare journalists who want to cover the military.

Looking back, it seems hard to believe that twelve years ago, on a morning much like this one, I was driving to school several hundred miles away, under this same sky, listening to history unfold on the radio.

There’s been a lot of water under the bridge since then, and I can only imagine what the next ten years will bring.

So, thanks to the men and women who lost their lives twelve years ago today, working their best in the line of duty. And thank you to the soldiers out there fighting still today, and to those who have seen action in this war.

The reality we have today is not something thirteen year old me could have imagined.

Here’s to working hard, staying scrappy and making the best of it.

Tags: Random Bits