Monday, September 12, 2011

Ten years after…


With the tenth anniversary of the terrorist attacks, I have become very reflective on the events of that day, how my life was affected, and how to answer my boys about 9/11.
For starters, ten years ago Kimm and I were living in our little starter home in Kalamazoo.  Max had entered our lives the previous year.  We were learning the balancing act that is being parents and transitioning from our lives as “dinks” (Dual income…no kids).  Kimm had soccer games each week.  I was still playing rugby.    We were figuring out how Max would fit in our social lives..now it's the other way around.
I had taken a job as a Corporate Account Executive with Nextel in February.  My career was taking nice strides.  Kimm and I had been transforming our “fixer-upper” of a starter home into a true doll house.  Coinciding with Max’s first birthday party, we had been putting the finishing touches on the house.  We had re-painted the exterior, the basement, the yard was in immaculate condition, all the beds were in full bloom, and I had just re-sealed the driveway.  Four days before 9/11 we had had our families over for Max’s Birthday.  He completely destroyed his little first birthday cake.  Everything in our little world was picture perfect.
Everybody has their memories of that day.  Mine are like most others…Shock, disbelief, and anger.  I do remember watching the news while Max was wearing a blue onesy was playing in his “bouncy-saucer” oblivious to how the world Kimm and I had brought him into had suddenly changed.
The next few days were truly a blur.  I remember word trickling in from friends and family that live in NYC and DC that all were okay.  I believe I was pretty much glued to the television and radio.  I remember attempting to get phones for my corporate customers that needed them.  FedEx was not able to fly so our shipments were not getting made.   I ran my demos around to my corporate customers as needed only to find their campuses/buildings still locked down.  I was meeting customers in parking lots trying to get them taken care of.
Our nation was in unchartered territory.  Every channel on tv was carrying coverage of the attacks.  News and rumors were rampant.  Our leaders were scuffling to regain a sense of security and normalcy.   Flyers were taped all over NYC trying to find missing loved ones.   As it was determined that the immediate attacks were over part of that normalcy was sports.  The NFL decided to go ahead and play their normal slate of games on the following Sunday.  If nothing else, people could use a distraction from “reality”.
Rugby was still a large part of my life.  I still practiced twice a week and had games on Saturdays.  It was my exercise, my social life, and a large part of my “identity”.    I was playing for the Grand Rapids Rugby Football Club at the time and we were scheduled to play a game in Toledo.  I had received a call from my coach, Graeme Leask, who told me Toledo had called, wondering if we were interested in still sending a side.  After calling around to our teammates, it was determined that we would have enough players who would be willing to play if they still were looking to host.  The game would be played.  We were taking our first steps towards normalcy.
Normalcy.
I remember waking Saturday and rocking Max for a while.  I ate and made sure my kit bag was packed.  It was pretty much a normal pre-game morning except for when I packed a shirt to wear home after the game.  Instead of grabbing an old club shirt or tour shirt, I packed a t-shirt I got during the previous 4th of July that had “America” and a flag on the front.  Flags, if you remember, had sprouted up and were everywhere.  Lapel pins, window clings for car windows, and every home had one flying.  I put on a USA Eagles jersey I had and got ready to leave.  I asked Kimm if she wanted to come.  This of course meant we would be taking the baby for the road trip as well.  Her look was all I needed to know the answer.    Kimm stood there holding Max and asked the one question I really had hoped not to hear…”Do you really have to go?”  I had the jersey’s….I had to go.  It's what I did.  I shrugged.   
Normalcy. 
I sipped a coffee during the drive.  News was still all over the radio.  We had learned about Flight 93 and how the passengers fought back.  We had heard of Todd Beamer’s final “Let’s Roll…” Words that he had said on a regular basis with his family whether they were trying to get out the door to get groceries, make it to the school bus, or head out to play a game.  It had become the war cry of the first Americans that fought back. 
Also on Flight 93 was a passenger named Mark Bingham.  Mark had been a rugby player at the University of California.  To say Cal Rugby is like Duke Basketball does not pay Cal Rugby its due.  Cal Rugby has won 26 of the 32 collegiate national championships played since 1980.  Cal Rugby is the Gold Standard in not only their sport, but all sports.  Mark had played the #8 position.   Now, you need to be pretty tough to play rugby.  You need to be a tough rugby player to play the #8.  Mark was 6’ 4” and 225 lbs and along with the other heroes that rushed the cockpit that morning must have been a terrifying sight to the terrorists that day.  I certainly hope he was.  His story hit me hard.  Mark was like a lot of guys I knew.   A lot of guys I cared about.  I lot of guys I aspired to be like.  From all I have read about him, I am certain that Mark and I would have been fast friends under different circumstances.
The drive to Toledo was very quiet. 
A rugby pitch before a game usually has a "buzz".  The home team is getting the field set up.   Guys mill about stretching, warming up, and generally bullshitting about one thing or another.  On this day guys were there…but they weren’t.    It was quiet.  It was passionless.  We were there just trying to continue on.
Normalcy.
Grand Rapids at the time was a very strong club.  We had made deep runs in the DII playoffs each of the previous two years.  We had amazing athletes.  We had depth.  That depth helped us to have almost “interchangeable parts” on the field.  We could throw out six or seven line ups and still be your best.  If one player went down, the next would come in and not miss a beat.  We were a well-oiled machine.  This should be a game GR would win by 28 points.
The game got started and from the beginning it was clear it would be a sloppy game.  No one was in synch.  Scrums were loose, the timing on passes were off, balls were getting dropped everywhere.  Later, I realized that I had fallen into the same trap as many that day.  Instead of “playing the game” and making the passes I should have been, I was taking balls and running into the teeth of the Toledo defense.  I was crashing my body into a wall of green jerseys over and over.  In retrospect I believe it was an attempt to release my pent up anger…that or trying to “feel” something after the numbing events of the week.  I know I was not alone.  It was the worst game I ever played with Grand Rapids.  Usually the class of our league, guys on our team were actually sniping at each other.  This was not fun.  The game had become a chore.
I honestly don’t remember the score or if we won or lost.  It certainly felt like a loss. I think of it as one.   Usually the winning team shows some adulation.  The losing team kicks at the grass.  Both teams give a quick cheer to themselves, their opponent, and the referee before heading off to a post-game party filled with food, beer, singing and recounting all the great plays you made that day.  Not that day.  I just remember the final whistle blowing and standing there completely unsatisfied with…everything.  I had wrecked myself physically in attempt to heal myself emotionally and failed.  The emotions of the week came flooding over me and my eyes welled up.  Self-conscious about my emotional state, I turned to head to the sidelines when the big “paw” of my opposite form Toledo grabbed my shoulder.  Traditionally you shake hands with the person you’ve played against in a show of good sportsmanship.   I looked over and he was as choked up as I was.  We stared awkwardly at each other for a second when he said “It didn’t help…did it?”  I shook my head.  “No…but we tried right?”.  I gave him a big bear hug and thanked him for the game.  We walked towards our cars.  “You gonna come to the post-game?”  He asked quietly.  “I think I just want to go home and see my family”.  I said.  “Yeah…” he admitted,  “...I do too.”