The last time I was in the towers was with my brother Mark (RIP) in the summer of 1986. We were showing my kids the city, the towers, the Statue, and Ellis Island. I couldn’t bring Geoffrey up into the fast elevator because he has a vp shunt, and his doctor had cautioned against it. Mark had waited with him down below with my Toyo. I took my other two little ones up to the top so they could see the city, and took some snaps. I also took a snap of my brother down below waiting by my van at street level.
Fast forward to 9/11. That baby ran into my bedroom and clicked on my TV, waking me up, telling me what was happening. I awakened to see the second plane explode surrealistically.
My brain was seeing images of the tower being torn apart.
Of my toyo and my dead brother a decade ago holding my infant son hundreds of floors down.
Now of souls who were trying to touch their families.
And all of this pain still haunts me.
Will any of us forget that day and how we felt when we saw the actual towers go down ... the actual intrusion of our country ... we thought we were a super power ... But more importantly, I think since that day I have learned that around the world people are suffering daily.
Not only I from intrusions, but also people living their daily lives, going about, and then others intrude upon them with their political beliefs—and this is called civilization.
But this civilization is also called war and numbers and death. The numbers will never stop. From the dawn of man, they never have. It is the law of survival, I would imagine. From the most intimate struggle to the most outrageous war.
Just my meanderings …
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