However Long It Takes…

It’s not like I’m the only patriotic person in America. And there are far better writers writing far better takes on the death of Osama bin Laden. But I feel like I need to get this out, so here goes.

There aren’t too many people in the civilized world who, if they were alive at the time, wouldn’t say they were strongly affected by the events of September 11, 2001. I was extremely affected. I remember the nights after the attacks, looking up into the sky and seeing the stars above and realizing: this is the first time, and probably the last time I will see a full, clear sky with no passing planes. Our entire continental United States was declared a no-fly zone for all commercial flights for a couple of days, and I remember it being kind of eerie, the calm quiet after the horrific storm.

On September 10th, 2011, my wife and I were pretty sure she was carrying our first child, and there was hope in the air. On September 11th, that hope was replaced with fear for the future of our country, our stability, our child’s life. I remember wondering what sort of world he would grow up in – Would he live in fear that the bus he was riding to work may be carrying a suicide bomber, moments away from violently disrupting American civility? Would he be forced to move to the wilderness with limited resources, for fear of the live warfare happening in the cities and former peaceful suburbs? My mind reeled with these extreme visions of Apocalyptic horror. Because I had seen the towers fall. I had seen people so frightened of the climbing flames that they jumped to their deaths, choosing a peaceful plunge over suffocation and burning.

By the time our first son was born on May 2nd, 2002, Ground Zero was well underway of being cleared, and much of the fear in the United States had been replaced with a dangerous mix of unwavering patriotism and bloodlust for the man behind the attacks, and frankly anyone who resembled him – even if only by nationality or race. Every house had a flag hung high, the economy was struggling but showing signs of coming back around and we had hope again. We supported the war in Afghanistan and were eagerly awaiting pictures on TV of Bin Laden’s head on a stick being paraded down the streets of Kabul, while onlookers threw rocks and garbage at it. But that didn’t come.

Then Saddam Hussein started acting up again. So we started telling playground rumors that he was mixing mustard gas in his bathtub and was going to gas his civilian population and then he was going to gas New York City and school children would die. And the political cartoonists made him look a little more like Bin Laden, and the lines were blurred.  And with the full might of our patriotic, bloodlusty military, we went in and pulled him from a dirty hole and hung him in the streets while people threw rocks and garbage and we cheered. But the glow of our national orgasm wouldn’t last for long, and when our blue balls started to ache for victory and returning heroes we got impatient and got all crazy for domestic regime change. So urgent was our need for change, we didn’t even want to see another old white guy in office. And we voted in a guy whose name rhymes with Osama, just so we could make him feel stupid until he either ended the war or brought us Bin Laden’s head on a stick.

Today is May 2nd, 2011. Today my son is 9 years old. Today Osama bin Laden is dead.

Every September 11th, I am brought to tears by some fucking TV news retrospective. I feel stupid when I cry over it. But I can’t help it. It was fucking tragic, and every year I am overwhelmed with a feeling of helplessness and anxiety that the world can come crumbling down and kill my children. Today I cried again. I was driving to work. I had already heard that Bin Laden had been killed, but it didn’t really hit me until I was by myself on the highway listening to of all fucking things the new Beastie Boys album. I simply realized I had tears in my eyes. And when the tears stopped I felt better.

Now I know the war’s not over. As a matter of fact, I expect something bad will happen quickly - as all those mother fucking, murdering, freedom-hating, religious fucknuts decide who the new leader of the symbolic America destroyers will be. People will die, and it will be sad. But I feel like a weight has been lifted. I have a little closure. And today I will celebrate the 9 years of my son’s life knowing that there is one less evil out there for him to be afraid of.