Ten years later - finally part of the 9/11 story

By the time I woke up in the late morning of September 11, 2001, both Twin Towers had collapsed, the Pentagon was in flames, scorched earth scarred a field in Pennsylvania - and I, a journalist, had missed it all.

Now, in the early morning of May 2, 2011, I reflect upon the news of Osama bin Laden's death - and in so doing, received a sort of closure I have been seeking for nearly a decade. 

I did not lose a loved one in the 9/11 attacks, but a part of me always felt hollowed out when thinking about that day. At that time, I was working as the night editor for the Middletown Journal. The night before, on Sept. 10, had been rather hectic - so much so, that I decided to sleep in and not set my alarm in the morning. 

I woke up to great alarm anyway. 

I came in to work that day expecting to be wildly busy, but I really wasn't, So many of the editors rightly stayed on thoughout the evening that I felt like a fifth wheel, and I didn't get to contribute much to the coverage.  That has always bothered me.

Now, 10 years later, the world is a very different place. In 2001, the Internet had been prominent for a few years but was still not nearly as dominant as it is today. Facebook and Twitter didn't even exist back then. I'm not even sure MySpace was all that prevalant at that point. 

In 2001, I found out about 9/11 through a phone message from my dad, and a news report I read on Yahoo. And even then I still thought it was an elaborate hoax, until I turned on the TV and saw the towers crash down. 

In 2011, shortly before 10:30 p.m.,  I was checking in to Facebook as usual and read that President Obama was about to make some kind of announcement relating to national security. That didn't sound good to me. A cloud formed over my head. 

Then, I switched on the TV to NBC news, which shortly confirmed that bin Laden was dead. And yes, rays of light did peek through the cloud. I was relieved the news was not dire. But I was not jubilant either. I cast a wary eye on footage of people celebrating outside the White House. 

I posted this status on Facebook. "It is good indeed that Osama bin Laden is dead, but I hesitate to think this is the end of anything other than his life. We must not let our guard down." 

I wasn't trying to be eloquent - I was just saying what was on my mind the most direct way I could. So I was surprised, and rather flattered that two friends of mine quoted me and tagged me on Facebook so other friends could read it.

Ironically enough, I may not be working at my newspaper job at all today. I have to work this coming Saturday, so I was taking Monday off. I have told my boss I would be ready to come in if needed. But even if I don't, I feel I have finally become part of the 9/11 story in a way I never had before.

But in a very crucial way, I still do not feel settled. None of us should. Yes, there is cause for celebration. It is good that one of the most evil men the world has ever seen is gone. It is good that those who lost loved ones may feel some sense of closure. But our pride must be tempered by vigilance. We could make no worse mistake now then to become complacent amid our gratitude. 

In many ways, a decade ago, we were asleep at the switch. And we can ill afford to avert our eyes again. I  may not sleep much after I write this - and that is good. The more restless we all are, the better. 

Freudian roller coaster

Kings Island opened this past weekend, but you won't find me there - and I'm not quite sure why.

I haven't been to Kings Island as a paying guest in more than 20 years. And I know why I shy away from the place. I'm no fun there. I can't hack roller coasters with big drops - and Kings Island's got a bunch of em. Even a ride as relatively tame as The Racer makes something in my brain say NO.

And that's the part I can't really figure out. I like the idea of roller coasters, and the physics of how they work. I'm not afraid of heights. I can go up in a hot air balloon or an airplane without breaking a sweat. I'm not afraid of drops. The Twilight Zone Tower of Terror at Disney's Hollywood Studios is one of my favorite rides, and that thing drops you several times on each trip.



It's not even roller coasters per se that bother me. I can ride the ones at the Disney parks. Space Mountain and Big Thunder Mountain are both loads of fun. Expedition Everest at Animal Kingdom and the Rock n' Roller Coasters at the Studios are a bit more intense, but I've been on both multiple times. I will never forget my debut whirl on the RNRC. I knew that the ride launched you from 0 to 60 at the very beginning, and I had planned to scream like the start of  the Beatles' "Revolution" to power me through it.




When I hit that first loop, however, all I could get out was "                  ." Not any kind of sound, just a stunned expression and a complete inability to vocalize, hence "                  ."

When it comes to roller coasters with big drops, though, it's a completely different story. When those g-forces on the big drops hit my stomach, my stomach always responds, "I would rather be anywhere in the world but here."

No, to find out why I can't take roller coasters, I think we have to resort to that old standby, childhood trauma.

The first big roller coaster I ever rode was an old wooden number called The Screechin' Eagle" at Americana Amusement Park AKA LeSourdsville Lake in Monroe, not far from where I work.



As you can see,  this roller coaster is not particularly tall. However, it has been particularly famous among coaster enthusiasts for its "air time"  - that moment when your butt lifts off the seat as you crest over the hill. Thing was, at the Screechin' Eagle it's not just your butt that lifts off the seat. It's the entire front half of your body. And when you're only 7 or 8 years old, and you're constantly afraid you're going to go flying OUT of the ride, well --- that tends to stay with you. So from that day on, roller coaster with big drops = last will and testament.

And I, being of sound mind and body, do not want to die, and don't want to be reminded that I feel like I'm going to die. So you could put Amy Adams in a bikini at the end of the ride, and that wouldn't sway me.

That said, she's welcome to try.