A New Old Project

I remember September 11th very clearly. I was 14, kissing my mom goodbye on my way to the busstop for another day of 9th grade. I saw she was watching some explosion of those two big towers in New York--or was it Chicago? I didn't know. I thought maybe it was a movie.
At school, when even Mr. Scott, my biology teacher, refused to turn off the television and teach his prepared lesson, I know, along with the rest of my terrified hormonal classmates, that this was a day to remember. I called a radio show to ask a question. I sat, spellbound, while my beloved drama teacher Jessica shared about the day JFK was shot, how that affected her teenage years. And every year I think of the massive hole that's still in New York City, unmarked by any sort of tribute. It's the most dismal, least hopeful spot in America.

Growing up in Utah County with semi-conservative parents, I have been surrounded by a very right-wing way of thinking, politically thinking. It wasn't until I discovered feminism, Bill Maher, and Michael Moore that I realized I was a tad more liberal than I thought I was. And that's okay. I'm sure my dad will forgive me for voting for Obama. The older I get, the more I get things. And when Obama was elected, even naive little me understood that this was the end of an eight-year era that would live forever in infamy: the reign of King George.

I had an idea for a book years ago, when I first saw this picture of George being told about the terrorist attacks. He, of course, sat motionless, expressionless, for nearly seven minutes before rushing out with Secret Service to react to the attacks. I remember when I first saw the picture. Bill Maher said he looked smug, like a stubborn child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I could see that in the picture: that could be the face of a corporate greedy bastard president who had messed up big time and hurt people in the meantime.

But it was my mom who commented, "He looks so scared." Yes, I could see that, too. And though I always knew there would be two different, mysterious points of view regarding Mr. Bush and his part in the terrorist attack, they both began to speak to me.

So this is my new project. I've been gathering some information, and now's the time to bury myself in research. I'm sick as everyone of the mud slung at Bush--Obama's here! Nightmare's over! But this was the president of my teenage years, the one I used in examples in my mind as I learned the political system, watched the news, grew into a rational adult. That stretch of time, including September 11th, will always stand out to me.

New project: officially begun. I'll let you know when it's over, or when I'm burned out.