Where were you?
That's a question I've always heard in connection to JFK's assassination. That was six years before I was born, and I believe my mom and sister were in the kitchen. As I was with my mom when CFRB announced that Elvis Presley had died. I rolled my eyes up a bit in thought, looked at the ceiling, and then said/asked, “I know the name, but who is Elvis Presley?”. I was seven.
The question that doesn't seem to be asked (and the non-existent hairs on the back of my neck just prickled as a jet flies overhead) is, “Where were you on 9/11?”
It's often volunteered.
Presidents of the United States of America have been assassinated before. Just think about Honest Abe.
But something like having two jets flying into the World Trade Center. The Twin Towers.
It didn't register, because at first there wasn't much information.
Then we found a TV.
And I only then realized that I L-O-V-E-D to go to Century 21. Across the street from the World Trade Center. I could have been there. It could have been me that was a name. A number. A casualty.
Okay, maybe a whole lot of a stretch. But it wasn't some imaginary far-off land of wonderment. I had been there. That year. The year before. The year before. This wasn't just something to watch on TV. This was real. Everything became real.
It was the second week of teachers' college when 9/11 happened.
We were told that classes were canceled and the building was considered a secondary (tertiary) attack site and they weren't taking any chances. So, I went home. Can't complain about that!
ue.
Then it again became some far-away news story, and I had lost the personal connection to it. As far I knew, there hadn't been anyone I knew that had died. So, it wasn't so much real anymore.
Until I went to Ground Zero the following Spring.
I saw the names and pictures of people that were missing. I saw buildings covered in black fabric. Unsure if it was a monument to signify mourning, or because the buildings had been damaged. My friend in Williamsburg/Brooklyn, Eleanor, told me that they had used Century 21 as a morgue.
I didn't want to shop there.
In the calm of Ground Zero I cried.
I cried not for anyone I knew. I cried not for the people that had died, or been injured, or suffered emotional distress. I cried for the change that I felt. The fact that the “innocence” of America was over with. Americans knew, or assumed, or heard, or sorta weren't sure, about their country's involvement in other countries. But, it wasn't on American soil, so what did it matter.
Timothy McVeigh did the most heinous thing imaginable, and he paid the appropriate price.
This was a foreign attack on American soil.
This was the Brooklyn Dodgers leaving for Los Angeles.
This, was unthinkable.
And the city rebounded. The city rebounded almost immediately. Thanks to sports. I watched a powerful video essay by Stephen Brunt, on Rogers Sportsnet (or whatever they're called), and I love anything he does. He could be talking about professional apple growing, and I'd watch/read it. But especially watch it. For even though he's a newspaper guy, he has a great voice and everything he's involved with is well shot.
I was in the front room with Norah. Norah was in the Exercise Yard, which used to be the Baby Jail, but it's a evolved a little bit over time. Norah and I frequently watch sports highlights and new shows in the mornings during the summer and on weekends otherwise. She sometimes watches a highlight or two, but especially loves the Jays promo spot where it shows highlights of a lot of Brett Lawrie, Jose Bautista and it's got a repetitive “WHOA-OH-OH” sorta thing goin' on. LOVES IT!!!
But she also likes to have her feet tickled, and enjoys chewing on bath toys.
So, all the emotion of 9/11's fallout came rushing back and I started to cry.
Sitting, watching TV on a Sunday morning in my front room, hanging out with my daughter, and BOOM!!! Crying. But, it wasn't just 9/11. It was the added layer of Norah. It was the added layer of Jodi. It was the added layer of having been reminded of our friends' friend. She gave birth about a year ago, but her daughter never went home.
There was an extra candle on Elijah's birthday cake yesterday. Not for good luck, but for that little girl and her mommy, who will never celebrate her first birthday.
And that just destroyed me.
When I think about how lucky I am for all that I have in my life right now, well, it's mind-blowing. Especially since I didn't want to have children.
Heh.
My daughter is awesome. She's fearless. She's tough. She's happy. She's walking. She's got some teeth. She seems to have said her first word in context, “Shoes!”.
S**T!
Closer to saying, “Daddy” than “Mommy”.
She eats almost everything. Whatever she doesn't eat, we put yogurt or hummus on/in it and she eats it. She's a GOOD EATER!!! And doesn't cry. And seems to share, and spend less time pulling the hair of other children. She snorts. She drools. Her poopy diapers are remarkably similar in odour to my expulsion of waste. She likes beer. LOVES meat! Sometimes “High 5!”s, and we're working on “JAZZ HANDS!!!”.
9/11 also makes me think of heroes. Or, to be even more PC, heroes and sheroes. And that's sheroes, as in women heroes, not members of the Freddy Shero family.
A hero is someone who sacrifices their life in order to potentially protect the lives of others. A hero is someone who goes into a burning building to try to save someone. A hero is someone who really gives of themselves, in order to help someone else. A hero is someone willing to stand-up and speak their mind in the face of adversity. Or a tank. A hero is someone who leaves their country in order to seek a better life for their children. Or, someone who makes sacrifices in order for their children to prosper.
Norah is my hero. Because of who she is, she brings so much joy to other people. To her grandparents, two who get most of their “Norah Time” via Facebook, but get the most out of a modern connection. Norah makes her Bubie very happy, as she really gets to see a lot of the developmental milestones, and different crazy things that come along with having me as a father. Like putting a cycling helmet on her and having her walk in a grocery store parking lot with her Radio Flyer. Which may have aided her sense of confidence in walking. Or, it was just fun.
Don't care.
Point is that I'm way more relaxed now than before Norah came along. And before I met Jodi.
So, ya, Jodi is my hero. Because of who she is, and what she allows me to do. And yes, that involves hanging myself from time-to-time with too much rope, but hey, she's my wife and not my caregiver. But she is. Both. She's awesome in how much she seems to enjoy life and all that throws at her. Or, whatever I literally launch at her. And the trials and tribulations of being an at-home mom. Or, as a friend put it this week, “Groundhog Day”. The same thing, over and over and over......unless you make a point (and have the time/energy and resources) to do something different every day. Which would get you out/about/active, which must be a good thing.
But I digress.
Jodi's an awesome (English) teacher. While she still hasn't been able to get me to speak English properly, she has been able to teach so much otherwise. That thinking about the feeling of others is a good thing, and trying to do it advance is the best way to go. Saying, “Sorry.” isn't just about being sorry, but about realizing that my actions affected someone else negatively. That earplugs are an effective thing. But she doesn't snore quite loud enough for me to put a pair on.
She's taught me that less is more. Lots of food choices for dinner are great, but sometimes a protein, a starch and a vegetable can go much further, as there's more space in the fridge for something to be made the next day. And I do love to create in the kitchen. Jodi loves that about me, and I love that she allows me to do as I wish when doing my thing.
But, she's also taken some huge leaps with what she's comfortable doing in the kitchen. She bakes some killer breads (THANKS LEON!!!) and has a knack for recreating my leftovers into tasty morsels of dining delight.
And she doesn't eat fruit. Hates bananas. Can't stand baked beans or their ilk. No avocado on her sushi rolls. Raisins? E-V-I-L!!!
But, if that's all I can really complain about, or make fun of.....then I'm in good shape.
And, all things considered I am.
Minus the aches and pains that seem to flare up more frequently. The stress of teaching 28 grade 4/5 students. The desire to try and get out of the classroom and get attached to an Urban Agriculture/Nutrition Education Centre that's supposedly going to be built in Regent Park. The desire to be doing something “professionally” with food. Cooking and/or baking. The desire to affect change in “my world”. In my community, in my classroom, in my family.
The reality is that I am more aware than ever. About the realities of where I'd like to affect change. I can only play to my strengths, try to avoid and minimize my weaknesses, and remember to always keep things in perspective.
The thought of not having Jodi or Norah in my life, and in my world, well....I think by now you get the picture. And for those of you wondering why I post so many pictures of Norah (and others). It's because we all see different things. I post the pictures I like the most. Rarely will I not edit before posting. By sharing more, I give people the opportunity to see more with their own eyes.
Maybe that's what I'm trying to do in the classroom too.
And at home, I'm trying to look at things through new eyes, thanks to my girls.
