WHEELING — Where were you when the world stopped turning? Have you Forgotten? On the surface those are two country songs penned by Alan Jackson and Darryl Worley, respectively, not long after the 9/11 attacks.
Now, 20 years later as we pay tribute to and remember the lives we lost on what is the most infamous day in American history, go have a listen to those tunes again. They resonate today as well as they did back then.
To answer the questions of those aforementioned crooners, I remember where I was. A dorm at West Liberty University, having spent the night there with my cousin and his friends. Have you forgotten? Sadly, I’d say we have.
I still watch documentaries on the events of 9/11, as they fascinate me for various reasons. I can recall the feelings that resonated, and some of those creep up every year on this same day. Anger. Sadness. Disbelief.
The overwhelming theme of these memories, however, is patriotism. Yes indeed, we’ve forgotten.
Your next-door neighbor that you hadn’t spoken to in a while because life just gets too busy? Suddenly there’s an hours-long conversation going on in a driveway, only interrupted by the occasional burst of tears and hugging each other tight. We were letting folks go ahead of us in line at the grocery store, because we could tell that single mom was struggling with her kids and wanted nothing more than to get them to the car so her (unnecessary but understandable) embarrassment could subside.
Sports? They’ve been my life since I am old enough to have memories. But they didn’t matter in the slightest bit after the attacks. Honestly, for quite a while I didn’t care if they ever played another game because things like that had never felt so trivial.
Of course they eventually did go on, just as life had to then, and must continue to now. And if you didn’t get goosebumps when President Bush threw out the first post-9/11 pitch inside Yankee Stadium, perhaps you’re not human. It was the ultimate F-You to the bastards who irreversibly changed so many lives here. It was our way of telling the world that our resolve will never wane.
One by one, regardless of sport, teams sprinted onto the playing surface with the American flag in tow, whipping in the wind. Specifically memories of the N.Y. Giants taking the field for the first time, as well as Sammy Sosa sprinting the length of Wrigley Field ivy-covered wall, miniature flag in hand, left indelible marks.
The Star Spangled Banner being played inside stadiums was a can’t-miss event. Who doesn’t remember the shots of tears rolling down the faces of these big, strong, masculine men — moved by the song and what it means — right before they had to try to crush the guy across from them for three straight hours?
Yes indeed, we’ve forgotten.
I’d like nothing more than to go back to those days. Not to relive the carnage that was caused, but because of the way this country was whole, despite the size of the hole that day left in each of us. There were no Giants or Jets fans. No Republicans or Democrats. No black or white skin. No gay or straight. We were Americans and damn proud of it.
Humans will argue about sports until the day we no longer inhabit this earth in bodily form. That’s the nature of it, and I truly believe it’s a healthy way of getting out some of our frustrations.
But it’s high time we put the rest of the nonsense to bed.
America, despite all her flaws, is supposed to be the beacon of light around the world. We’re the big brother that’s supposed to show everyone else the way.
America, despite all her flaws, is still the place where folks from around the world will risk life, limb and even death in order to get here. Think about that before you call our flag racist or divisive.
America, despite all her flaws, is still the greatest place on the planet and it’s not even close. But that’s only true when we’re all one, and we’re far from it these days.
Where were you when the world stopped turning? If we’re not careful, there just might be a need for a second version of that song to be written and released. And it won’t be because of some foreign attack, but rather from what we’re doing to ourselves from within.
Sunday when the NFL kicks off its season, remember how we felt when that first national anthem was played after the attacks. Think back to the pride and the reverence you had for those that died that day.
For three hours you can root for the Steelers, the Browns, the Raiders, whomever. But at the end of the day it’s best we’re left with one indisputable fact — we’re all on the same team.
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