Choices

Tom Junod wrote an incredible, thoughtful, moving article for Esquire Magazine about the pictures AP photographer Richard Drew took on the morning of September 11, 2001. The most famous of the photographs, dubbed "The Falling Man", was originally published on September 12, 2001. And over the course of the last fifteen years, that picture has been censored.

Not by the government, but by the American people themselves.

Why?

Junod elaborates on the possible reasons as some of his journalist colleagues attempted to identify the man in Drew's photo series. But the common theme in the responses from families the reporters contacted is a mixture of anger and shame. Junod equated the emotions to our collective horror over the terrorism of that day.

I believe the reaction is due to another reason. It all comes down to Americans' bizarre relationship with suicide.

Suicide is often equated with mental illness. Even assisted suicide for those in the end stage of disease are looked at askance. Yet, neither of those situations remotely compare to the place those people trapped in the Twin Towers found themselves that morning.

As DH said to me on that day fifteen years ago, "How bad were things up there that jumping out a window was a better option?"

No one knows exactly how many people jumped that awful morning. Junod gives estimates based on educated guesses from viewing raw footage. 9/11, the accidental documentary by the French brothers Jules and Gedeon Naudet, left in the shocked firefighters' reaction when they realized the sounds they heard were bodies. Allegedly, the documentarians edited out some of the hits because the constant thuds were too much for them.

I recorded 9/11 when it was first aired on March 10, 2002. I admit I haven't been able to watch the recording again, much less the airings of the film on the anniversaries, because of those sounds.

The NYC medical examiners office refused to classify anyone who died in the Twin Towers attacks as "a jumper". To the M.E.s, those people did not go to the Towers with the intent to commit suicide that morning.

So I can understand Junod's suggestion over the collective horror over something we witnessed and could do nothing to stop. But it doesn't explain the anger or the denial directed at those who chose to jump. And maybe that's the problem. We don't know what went through their minds that morning.

Collectively, Americans pride themselves on their can-do, never-give-up attitudes. We condemn people for giving up or not trying hard enough. And to some of the families of those who died, the idea that a loved one "gave up" is anathema to the person they knew.

But did these people really give up? Essentially, their choice to live was taken from them by nineteen members of al-Qaeda. They were reduced to suffocating, burning alive, or being crushed to death when the walls and ceilings started to collapse.

Instead, some of these people found a fourth option. An option not dictated by those who wanted to kill them.

To me, it was the bravest option. A final screw-you to the terrorists.

And frankly, it's the option I would have taken too.

I Remember

[This is a modification of the first post I wrote for 9/11 based on a talk I had with my son last night.]

On Tuesday morning, September 11, 2001, you were thirteen months and fifteen days old. Your dad took you to day care and he went to his office. I had a dentist appointment, which is why I wasn't with you two

I flipped on the news while I was eating breakfast. The first plane had crashed into the North tower. No one knew what was going on. They thought it was a freak accident. Until we all watched the second plane ram into the South Tower.

By the time I got to Dr. Mellard's office, the third plane had hit the Pentagon.

The back room with the treatment bays were terribly quiet. There was just the drone of the TVs she had installed in each bay to help keep patients distracted. I watched nearly 3,000 people die on live TV while sitting in the treatment chair.

When I got home, the second tower had collapsed. There was a message on our phone from my friend, Lanelle. "Don't bother coming to the office. They're shutting down our building and the Galleria."

I called your father and repeated Lanelle's message. He said his building was still open, but they'd gotten word that Williams Tower near his office was evacuating. It's one of the tallest buildings in Houston, but since it's in uptown, not downtown, it sticks out. The perfect target.

"Get GK and come home now. It's bad."

By the time you and your dad came home, the FAA had grounded all civilian flights. Our house is under the landing path for Bush Intercontinental. We never realized how much the hum of jet engines was part of our background noise until they were gone. Then the first military planes crossed the sky. The difference between them and commercial aircraft was unmistakable. And they flew very low, and very fast.

The rest of the day we split our time between watching the news and listening to fighters out of Ellington Field fly patrols over Houston. In between the passes, an eerie silence blanketed the city.

And I was so thankful you didn't really understand what was happening. You knew something wasn't right, but you quietly played with your blocks and trucks while your dad and I wondered if our country was about to go to war. Or if worse things were about to happen.

Have things gotten better since then? Yes and no. I don't think you'll ever understand what it was like before that day. When your dad and I could throw some clothes into a bag at the last minute and hop a flight to your grandparents or to New Orleans. All you'll ever know is the long lines, the overworked and undertrained TSA agents, and the immense planning that goes into our family taking a plane anywhere.

I'm sorry so many kids lost their parents that day. Or their aunts, uncles, grandparents, siblings...

I'm sorry your generation will be paying for my generation's mistakes, miscalculations, and sheer ineptitude for years to come.

I'm sorry this is the world we've given you. One of fear and hate and prejudice. One were your friend Saif couldn't see his own grandparents for nearly a year because his parents were scared to leave the U.S., terrified they wouldn't be able to return because they were Muslim even though they were American citizens. And his Pakistani grandparents couldn't come to see him, even if they wanted to.

I'm sorry.

And I pray every day that you and your friends do a better job of finding peace than we did.

Aired Only One Time

Budweiser only aired this Super Bowl commercial once--for obvious reasons. A second version using much of the same footage aired on the 10th anniversary of the 9/11.

I Remember

[This is the first post I wrote for 9/11. It runs every year on this date.]

On Tuesday morning, September 11, 2001, I watched nearly 3,000 people die on live TV while sitting in the treatment chair at my dentist's office.

When I got home, there was a message from my friend, Lanelle. "Don't bother coming to the office. They're shutting down our building and the Galleria."

I called DH. "Get GK and come home now. It's bad."

The rest of the day we listened to fighters out of Ellington Field fly patrols over Houston. In between the passes, an eerie silence blanketed the city.

Have things gotten better? Yes and no. We heal, but we cannot forget.

I Remember

On Tuesday morning, September 11, 2001, I watched nearly 3,000 people die on live TV while sitting in the treatment chair at my dentist's office.

When I got home, there was a message from my friend, Lanelle. "Don't bother coming to the office. They're shutting down our building and the Galleria."

I called DH. "Get GK and come home now. It's bad."

The rest of the day we listened to fighters out of Ellington Field fly patrols over Houston. In between the passes, an eerie silence blanketed the city.

Have things gotten better? Yes and no. We heal, but we cannot forget.