Seven more minutes of childhood: a father’s wish on 9-11

imageI’ll never forget how I felt this day 15 years ago as an American, a firefighter and as a father — and how each held its own kind of hurt that has never completely healed.

But of the three, being a father watching the sparkle in my then six-year-old daughter’s eyes noticeably fade just a bit continues to be the memory that lingers most. Each year on this day, I post this in memory of those innocent lives that were lost, as well as for the loss of innocence we all experienced in some way or another…

 

My alarm clock went off the same as it always did back then, coming to life with the morning news — my preference over the annoying, high-pitched alternative of chatter. Instinctively, I swatted the snooze button and bought myself another seven minutes of sleep.

In the years since, I’ve thought a lot about those seven minutes, and how the simple push of a button postponed a bitter reality for just a little longer. When the news came on again, word of the first airliner crashing into the World Trade Center stopped my hand just short of another seven minutes of blissful ignorance — a time span that now seems like an eternity.

Lying there, listening to the details, I regretted not pushing the button one more time.

A hundred more times.

A thousand.

In that same moment, I also understood that the impassive gaze of terrorism could only be averted for so long, and that, eventually, I’d have to meet it — along with the questioning gaze of my daughter. 

As a parent, I debated whether I should shield her from these events, essentially pushing the snooze button to allow her at least a few more minutes of childhood before waking her to this new, colder world. But how long, I wondered, would it be before she discovered reality on her own?

There are at least six news stands near our home, all with their front pages displayed at eye level for a child her age. I thought about the images that would be appearing in those small plexi-glass windows in the coming days and weeks. I thought about what she might overhear during playground conversations as children put their own interpretive spin on the language of adults heard from the radio, television and from discussions between parents after they thought their children were asleep.

My daughter suddenly appeared in the doorway, and I realized that I was still poised — frozen really — with my hand over the snooze button, still listening to the account of terrorism on the radio.

It was at this point that fragmented accounts of an attack on the Pentagon began, along with word of a downed jetliner somewhere in Pennsylvania. And maybe a car bomb near the capitol — a story that was interrupted by word of a second airliner crashing into the trade center towers.

“Dad, what’s happening?” my daughter asked.

She remained in the doorway, a departure from her normal routine of diving onto the bed. I noticed this instinctively, in much the same way she must’ve noticed my hand still hovering above the snooze button.

Neither of us moved; neither of us wanted to. At different levels, we both understood that moving meant setting things into motion that could somehow never be turned back.

Slowly, I drew my hand away from the alarm clock and gestured for her to join me on the bed. There was no running, no broad-smiled dive over the footboard. She approached with obvious hesitation, her eyes moving between the radio and me.

“What’s going on, Dad?” she asked again.

Pulling her close, we listened to the radio as I struggled to find the words to answer her question. After a series of false starts, I decided there was really only one place to begin.
As the events of that morning continued to unfold from the radio, we allowed our voices to carry over the reports of terrorism — and spoke, instead, of what it means to be an American.

Today marks 13 years since I’ve stop setting my alarm to go off with the morning news.

____________________________________________________________________

This column was first published Sept. 13, 2001, in Siuslaw News.

 

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(Ned Hickson is an award-winning nationally syndicated columnist with News Media Corporation. He is the author of “Humor at the Speed of Life,” and “Pearls of Writing Wisdom: From 16 shucking years as a columnist,” available from Port Hole Publishing, Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble.)

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22 thoughts on “Seven more minutes of childhood: a father’s wish on 9-11

  1. A lovely piece. I remember hearing folks talk of the concern for younger children, who might have believed that those planes were going into buildings all day, the footage was repeated so incessantly. My children were teens, and were no less horrified, but much more receptive to the open conversation. Thanks for sharing this one. 💘

    • I remember walking to work the next day and seeing newspaper boxes stuffed with front pages images of the burning towers and close ups of the planes crashing… All at eye level for kids walking to school. I couldn’t help but wonder how many kids walked by those newspaper boxes… And how many always will in some way.

  2. I think many fathers and mothers must have had similar conversations with their children at this time fifteen years ago. You’re right, Ned. It was a day when so many innocent and so much innocence were both lost.

  3. I remember this post from last year Ned… it is very poignant. I know how I felt as an American the day of this horrible tragedy. I can only imagine how you and other first responders felt. It hits close to home when those you know, care about and love are on the front lines everyday putting your lives at risk for out safety. Thank you for your time and sacrifice Ned. May we all grow strong from the memory and never forget those who went before…. ❤

  4. Yes. We all have our memories of this day. I saw everything on TV as it was happening, unfortunately. Didn’t hear about it after.

    Ned, you just have such a way with words – humor and serious prose. This is beautifully told. 💗

  5. Interesting if only that I never have fully thought about the impact 9/11 has had on the world my children live in. Heck, my own world as a 55 year old really has not known war on my home turf and that’s essentially what happened that day. I realized how cowardly war can be, how much the innocent pay for the pain of this world. My children have grown up with a glimpse into that horror, something I think they should see.

  6. We’ve always been on the edge of oblivion.
    September 11 was just a wake-up call to how close we really are to destroying ourselves over illusions of ethnic superiority and religious madness.
    But I prefer to remain oblivious so that’s all I have to say about that…
    By the way, you’re a brilliant scribe and human/father, Ned.

  7. That was a hard day. As a Mom and daughter of a firefighter. As someone working in the downtown core surrounded by tall buildings. My 11 yr old knew something was wrong when I was home before him. We tried to soften the transition to adulthood. We talked…a lot. We avoided seeing the images. We prayed. We cuddled. Like so many, we tried to rebuild faith and hope so maybe…just maybe…our kids’ world will be better for their kids.
    Thank you for sharing.

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