(no subject)
Jun. 11th, 2017 11:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
healingmirthThis feels like a weird one, but journaling, eh?
I'm watching the Tony awards back because live hockey got dibs on my TV time from 8 until 11, and the first performance from a musical was "Welcome to the Rock" from Come From Away, a song I don't know from a musical I'm not sure I'd heard of until ten minutes ago.
And there's a line, a moment, about halfway through the song, "Oz! Turn. On. The radio." And I just started crying out of nowhere.
That's so central to my memory of 9/11. We were out on a construction site, and one of the contractors had one of those fancy DeWalt radio/chargers, and I can't be sure, but I think I might've been the first person on the site to hear the news.
And I called my mom, had to try two or three times before she picked up. I was so worried that my Dad might've been in the city that day - honestly, my grasp of New York geography at the time was not great, and while I knew he didn't work in or near the WTC site, I also didn't have a really clear idea of what he *did* all day. He could have been anywhere.
A couple weeks ago at dinner with my parents, my dad mentioned he was going to be passing through Indianapolis, which is where I was that week. I mentioned that I really liked what I'd seen of the area, the neighborhood around the church where our group was crashing for the week, the convention center I'd only seen the night we went in for the keynote address.
He asked how I got home. I said we drove, that we'd driven up to Indiana from Georgia, so whatever else happened, we didn't have to worry about air travel going back home. I don't think I flew anywhere for some time after that, but I also think that was when I was driving home for visits rather than flying. I think he said he drove home? At some point? From Canada? He was working for a company based in Montreal at the time. I should ask him again, so I remember. And my mom. We'd never talked about it before, except in a passing discussion of a high school classmate of mine who died in one of the towers.
I do remember how absurdly simple it was, before that, to board a plane at our tiny regional airport for a hop up to Atlanta, usually in a prop plane, 8 or 10 seats, and they'd swap the passengers around in the plane to balance the weight in the cabin. I think there was one jet flight a day.
I'm watching the Tony awards back because live hockey got dibs on my TV time from 8 until 11, and the first performance from a musical was "Welcome to the Rock" from Come From Away, a song I don't know from a musical I'm not sure I'd heard of until ten minutes ago.
And there's a line, a moment, about halfway through the song, "Oz! Turn. On. The radio." And I just started crying out of nowhere.
That's so central to my memory of 9/11. We were out on a construction site, and one of the contractors had one of those fancy DeWalt radio/chargers, and I can't be sure, but I think I might've been the first person on the site to hear the news.
And I called my mom, had to try two or three times before she picked up. I was so worried that my Dad might've been in the city that day - honestly, my grasp of New York geography at the time was not great, and while I knew he didn't work in or near the WTC site, I also didn't have a really clear idea of what he *did* all day. He could have been anywhere.
A couple weeks ago at dinner with my parents, my dad mentioned he was going to be passing through Indianapolis, which is where I was that week. I mentioned that I really liked what I'd seen of the area, the neighborhood around the church where our group was crashing for the week, the convention center I'd only seen the night we went in for the keynote address.
He asked how I got home. I said we drove, that we'd driven up to Indiana from Georgia, so whatever else happened, we didn't have to worry about air travel going back home. I don't think I flew anywhere for some time after that, but I also think that was when I was driving home for visits rather than flying. I think he said he drove home? At some point? From Canada? He was working for a company based in Montreal at the time. I should ask him again, so I remember. And my mom. We'd never talked about it before, except in a passing discussion of a high school classmate of mine who died in one of the towers.
I do remember how absurdly simple it was, before that, to board a plane at our tiny regional airport for a hop up to Atlanta, usually in a prop plane, 8 or 10 seats, and they'd swap the passengers around in the plane to balance the weight in the cabin. I think there was one jet flight a day.
