Cheers, Dad
He told me when Osama Bin Laden died we would have a bottle of champagne, but then he died a month after 9/11 because he was an alcoholic.
He told me when Osama Bin Laden died we would have a bottle of champagne, but then he died a month after 9/11 because he was an alcoholic.
It was only appropriate that the one day that I, the most gullible student in the fourth grade at the time, did not believe a ridiculous story that someone told me was that day in September when the world changed forever.
In the dark, early morning hours of September 11th, 2001, I sincerely prayed to God that no one would be killed that day in order to balance out the string of violent murders that had commited across the country the week before.
I was teaching on 9/11, and after I dismissed my students, for a long time afterward I couldn't interact with any of them without wondering if I would eventually read that they had "died in the service of their country."
President Bush killed my father, a soldier whose burned remains are now a part of the Iraqi desert landscape, and I, longing to fit in by supporting something I did not understand, was stupid enough to vote for him the previous year.