First, a word of warning...strong language to follow. Some occasions warrent, or maybe require, its use.
I want to shake the world until it pays attention. Like a small child spinning out of control, I want to pin the world's arms to its sides to stop the flailing, take it by the chin and scream into its face "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!" I want to make it listen.
Can't the world see? I have children! Nothing is more important than them. Nothing should be more important than children to their parents. Damn it, I want them to be safe! I want them to be happy. I want them to trust. I want them to love without reservation. Without the fear that their love and trust will be used against them. I show them by my example as best I can, but what do I say to a three year old girl when the whole damned world teaches her again and again that people want to hurt her, want to take advantage of her, want to abuse her.
I stood in the living room this morning cradling my new baby in my arms, crying because I didn't ever want to let her go. I don't ever want to let her go. Not into this fucking world.
I don't know what to tell Sarah. I tried. I told her that some very bad people did some very bad things this morning because they thought they could get what they want by hurting people. Somehow it seems too small. But what do I tell her, when I don't understand the world myself?
My God. All those people. So many innocent people. The images. Two burly and haggard New York fire fighters hugging each other, tears streaking their ash-smeared faces. People in the street holding up their hands as the first tower fell, trying to hold it up. Trying to make it stop.
John, I'm just stricken. I can't believe the towers, so much an icon of the place I used to call my home, are gone. I can't believe there are people in the world who hate me so much because of where I was born. I can't believe there are places in the world where I can't go without being a target. I'm in denial.
And I'm at war with myself. Half my soul cries out for vengeance. I want whoever did this dead. I want them dead in such an overwhelming, obvious, undeniable way that other terrorists will give up that life and cradle their own children in fear of losing them. I heard a story once about the first hijacking of a Russian aircraft. The Russian government didn't negotiate. Instead they sent the lead terrorist a box containing the head of his wife. Nobody hijacked another Russian plane for decades. That's what I want.
The other half of me hates myself for thinking such things. That half wants peace. That half wants to share the riches of this country, of our technology, of our abundance with all those people that hate us for what we have. To make the world a better place by proactive charity instead of reactive vengeance.
I don't know what to do. I don't know what can be done.
More soon, about things less painful and more joyous. For now, I have to go to a lunch I don't really feel like attending, and get back to the work I don't really feel like doing today.
God Bless you, your family, and all of us,