Yesterday, I settled into my comfy chair and flipped on the TiVo to behold some of the Family Guy goodness that I enjoy again and again and again. I was confronted with the incredible episode “Airport ’07” which portends to spoof several movies, mostly dealing with airplanes. As I’m sitting there, while Glenn Quagmire crash lands the plane and then Tom Tucker proceeds to exacerbate the news with models of how it would’ve looked had they crashed into a school, or a school for bunnies, or a school for bunnies with one survivor who went home and mercilessly beat his wife…I’m confronted with the realization that it’s September 11 and this is a horrible, excruciatingly horrible choice to rerun on this particular day.
Fortunately, I’ve had difficulty reading the calendar as of late and it turns out that this episode was on several days before and I’ve only now started watching it…and the TV moguls who decide how to rerun episodes aren’t really the callous bastards I had made them out to be in my head. (Except when you cancelled SportsNight…bastards!)
However, this event, naturally, brought more feelings to the forefront and I’m going to go ahead and say it although you may call me callous and uncaring as well…I don’t remember much about September 11. I remember hearing about it while at my desk at work, I remember checking websites for more information, and I remember being concerned for my friend J. who was a flight attendant for American at the time. But beyond that, I might as well have been reading “My Pet Goat” to a bunch of elementary school children, much like Mayor Adam West…or the president even.
Of course, I had concern for the people who tragically lost their lives, or their families, or their friends on that day. But the day itself and the memory of it stirs no emotion in me. I’m not angered or saddened, I’m simply not anything. I remember it, but I feel nothing for it.
On the other hand, I remember vividly the day my grandfather passed away and my mother’s face as she sped past the bus stop wiping tears from her eyes. It may have been the only time in her life that my mother didn’t observe the speed limit. I can recall exact details of the moment that I heard my friend Melisa had been murdered. And I remember watching one uncle gasp for breath as he died of lung cancer and my aunt stoically sat beside his hospital bed, holding his hand, exhorting my sister and I never to smoke (which we’ve never done by the way.) These are the moments, the events, that have changed and shaped my life. These are the times that I have felt sorrow and panic and fear. And, if this still makes me a bad person in your eyes…well, I’m sorry.