September 11th

It's been said before that there are, in every lifetime, definitive moments for a generation.  Moments that no matter where you were, or what you were doing, you will remember forever.  For our grandparents it may have been Pearl Harbor.  For our parents, it may have been the assassination of President Kennedy. My mom told me once that she still remembers exactly where she was when she heard the news that the President had been assassinated.  17 and in high school at the time, she stood in the hallway of Helena High talking with friends.  Over the loud speaker came the announcement "Students, we are sorry to inform you, but president Kennedy has just been assassinated while on tour in Texas."  My mom said that she didn't know how to react, really, so she started to laugh.  Then she asked her friends something like "Are you kidding?"  Even while she told me the story she chuckled, not because the situation is funny but because of her inappropriate reaction to a horrible event.

 For my generation, one of those moments came on September 11th, 2001in the form of 4 hijacked jet airliners. I was 18 at the time and living in a small apartment in Provo, Utah.   Getting up in the morning is the bane of my existence, so I was lulling around a 7:30 in the morning trying to wake up while waiting for my 5 other roommates to finish showering and get out of the bathroom.  After making my way to the kitchen for some breakfast, I saw my roommate Noel run out of the back bedroom and turn on the TV. 

"What's going on?" I asked.

 "My mom just called and told me to turn on the news.  A plane crashed in to a building or something in New York City. Nobody on the news really knows whats going on." 

"Huh....., that's weird." I thought.

 As we watched the news, we kept flipping channels to see if anybody could come up with any concrete information as to who had done it or what it was.  All of a sudden, the programs were interrupted and we started seeing pictures of the Pentagon smoking and on fire.  On the bottom of the screen the words "The United States is under attack" came up.  My heart sank and suddenly visions of my four older brothers being drafted for World War 3 went racing through my mind (I'm like that- if there's an opportunity for my mind to spiral in to worst case scenario, it will). 

Since I was already late from sleeping in and I had to be at work, I went to the back of the apartment, showered and dressed, and started to leave.  I worked for the BYU grounds crew, and had to be there at 8, but, in true Wendy fashion, I wasn't ready to walk out the door until about 8:05.

My roommates were still gathered in front of the TV, and as I came in to the living room on my way out, I watched another bit of breaking news.  The South tower at the WTC had fallen.  And my heart stopped for a moment when they showed it.  "Thousands and thousands of people just died" was all I could think as I hopped in my car and drove to work.

I went to work to find my boss and co-workers gathered in the truck, listening to the radio.  We sat there most of the morning- ignoring all the turf that needed maintenance.  It wasn't until later that I learned about the north tower collapsing, and the flight in Pennsylvania. 

I realize that most of you don't really care where I was or what I was doing, but I want my kids to know things like this.  I want them to know that it did matter to me, that I was sad, and that I mourned right along with the rest of America when it happened. 

What I find fascinating about historical tragedies is the resilience of the human spirit and the goodness of human kind that emerges as a result of this.  There are a million and one stories that can be told of everyday people stepping up and becoming heroes.  When you study individual stories from Pearl Harbor, you will find everyday men and women stepping up and showing what they're made of. Whether it's shooting down a Japanese plane or caring for wounded soldiers, almost every eyewitness account I've read shows some form of human bravery.  I think the same was true for 9-11. Firefighters, Policemen, friends, and neighbors all pulling for, and helping one another. 

I saw this on one of my favorite blogs and wanted to share it as well. It made me bawl.  There truly is so much goodness in the world. 

Stories From My Life

My Life In Stories:  Worst Date Ever

 We went to church together and I had been eyeing him for months.  Even though I have always had a fairly good self-esteem, I was terrible at flirting.  I had a hard time with eye contact.  I had a hard time playing cute.  I had a hard time letting a boy in on the secret that I liked him.  So, for a long time I sat back and watched from afar. 

Kendall was "my type" (which is funny considering I didn't marry "my type" and I'm the better for it).  He had dark hair and was tall and athletic and all those things the girls go gaga over.  Even better, he was nice to everyone and didn't sell security systems door to door.  I was never pretty enough for the pretty boys.

 If I'm being honest, I was

 too much of a rebel for this good, Mormon boy.   I wore tight clothes and skipped class to go bridge jumping.  He got straight A's and had the right answer in Sunday School.  Although I was completely aware of the differences in us, I aspired to be good, and in aspiring to be good, I aspired to date the good guy. 

He liked it when I sang and played my guitar, I liked it when he smiled at me.  I tried to make dinner for him.  He grinned through the chewy, semi-undercooked beef roast.  Things went on like this for what seemed like forever.

Then, one balmy springtime day, he called.

He wanted to go dirt biking out at the sand dunes. 

VICTORY! 

He may or may not have been asking as a friend.  I didn't know.  I didn't care.  I got to spend time with him without other people, so in my mind- it was a date!

I went to class that morning and afterward grabbed some Sonic for lunch and ran home to carefully select my outfit.  Casual enough to dirt-bike in, but still fantastically cute.  Something to say "I think I'm fabulous, so you should too!" 

Ultimately I chose distressed jeans and a fitted blue hoodie.

He picked me up in his truck and we headed off in to the great, sandy unknown.

He handed me his extra helmet and I jumped on the back of his dirt bike. 

I was having a blast, the only stinky part was that my quads hurt since there was nowhere to rest my feet and I was desperately trying to keep them from dragging through the sand or getting caught in the wheel. 

Then, all of a sudden, I realized I was feeling queasy. 

"Shake it off!" I told myself.  "You like this guy! You are FINE!  Take a deep breath and think yourself out of being motion sick!"

The fighting within my brain continued for another few minutes.

At some point, my quads and my stomach just couldn't take it any more and I tapped his arm to let him know I wanted to take a break.  That's when, as they say, "The poo hit the fan." 

I got off the bike and took a deep breath.

Then something to the effect of "I'm not gonna lie, I am not feeling so great" came out of my mouth.

And I knew I was gonna hurl.

I started walking away, hoping he wouldn't notice or something?  I'm not sure what was actually going on in my brain, I was so focused on the fact that I knew I was gonna barf and I didn't want to.

I wish that I could just stop typing right now.
But, that wouldn't be funny , and what comes up  next is pretty funny. 

To my horror (and probably yours as you read this), my sonic burger made a second appearance.  The worst part of it was........

I had his helmet on.  You know, the kind with the face mask that goes right in front of your mouth?  Yeah, that kind.  So, I threw up in my hand.... which was in the helmet trying to block the puke from getting in the face mask....

Kendall was just staring at me,  not quite sure what to do. 

I wanted the sand dunes to open up and swallow me whole, leaving no trace of the puke covered (not to mention humiliated) girl I had just become.  I cringe thinking about it, even 8 years later.

I pulled my sweatshirt off and we headed back to the truck, with Kendall apologizing the whole time.  The ride home was beyond awkward, since I'm sure I stunk like barf and really, what do you talk about after you've just vomited in your date's helmet?

Needless to say, sparks didn't really fly between us after that.  I blew it.  Actually, I blew chunks, which is most likely worse than blowing it.   Kendall was so nice about the whole thing, really. He didn't even tell his roommates because he said he didn't want to embarrass me.  How nice is that?  I would have yukked it up with half the county if I'd been in his situation.  But, there again, is the difference between he and I. 

Proof that we never would have worked anyway, so at least I get a funny story out of it.

And, I win the crown for the worst date ever.