in my shoes

While visiting the Big Apple, I was compelled to see the memorial site of 9/11.  My 9/11 story began in  a Chicago suburb.  I was supposed to begin my cross country trip back to college in California two days before, but decided to push it back so that I could just make it to my first class.  Knowing that I was likely to get lost between my parents house and interstate 80, I decided to limit all distractions.  I knew nothing of the Twin Towers until 10:30am, when I was three hours away from home.  I spent the next two and a half days driving across the Bible Belt by myself, listening to music-less radio.  I heard outrage and fear in caller’s voices, but I had no images.  I was confused and shaken.  It wasn’t until much later that I had the courage to look for pictures of the crashes and the aftermath.  I was disgusted by the hijacking, but I was even more disgusted by the hatred that I heard on the radio.

I came up from the subway in New York  in October 2010 expecting to see a large, touching memorial.  At first, I was disappointed to see a big construction site.  I thought to myself, “Really!?? This is all that I get?  I huge construction site with cranes that fly the American flag?  No big posters or pictures or flowers or statues?”  Just after my outrage and disappointment dissipated, I found a small information kiosk.  It was covered in pictures of the firemen, the dust, and the families mourning.  On each corner of the 6′x6′ box were timelines of the events.  Standing there, reading the times of the crashes, the numbers of people who helped and the plans for the future, I looked into the eyes of a fireman in a photo and I bawled.  My breath was knocked out of me, I kneeled to the ground, and I sobbed.

It was so emotional, that I decided to spend the afternoon exploring the area.  I found the fire department and museum on the opposite side of the construction site.  I found a A.B. Curtiss’ children’s book, “The Little Chapel that Stood” that depicted the tragedy and aftermath so well that I cried again.  And then I found myself in front of the controversial proposed mosque.

In Europe, people had asked me what I thought about the mosque.  Some said it was horrendous and shouldn’t be allowed.  I was under the impression that the mosque was directly adjacent to the Twin Towers site and the owner’s had malicious intentions, but I laughed at the controversy when I visited.  The mosque (which is also slotted to be an educational center) is three blocks down, and there is a Christian church closer to the site than the mosque will be.  Part of the controversy is that there are supposedly other mosques in the area, so it’s not filling a need that is not already met.  As I see it, the building is in disrepair, needs residents to take ownership of it, and would be a wonderful symbol for the world that shows how Americans can live in a diverse, accepting and forgiving manner.  Part of my laughter was sheer joy that people are allowed to express their frustrations and fears while others are allowed to rebut their ideas.  Our freedom of speech is the source of controversy, and that’s wonderful.

As I was about to enter the subway to return to Manhattan, I looked up one last time and saw this set of windows painted with images depicting the freedom of religion.  I had a wonderful afternoon exploring the community of the Twin Towers.  I left with more compassion toward New Yorkers than I had when I came.  Thank you to all of you who fought to save lives, who struggled to continue to love, and who continue to respect those we have lost.