Post-Birthday Rant

My birthday is September 11th. For thirty-four years it was a perfectly good day to have a celebration: fall is just around the corner, the weather is usually nice and there are no holidays on the calendar to conflict with my special day. And then the freakin’ terrorists went and hijacked planes, crashed into buildings, and killed thousands. All on my thirty-fifth birthday. Those bastards.

For the rest of my days, my birthday will be a reminder of the horror we witnessed that day. Our country will never be the same, not only because of what the scum-bag terrorists achieved on that day, but also because of the reaction of our government.

Getting on a plane is a massive hassle. Phone conversations can be listened to without warrants. Library and business records can be seized without cause. Physical searches can be forced upon citizens who can also be held and questioned indefinitely without being charged with a crime. The rights of the individual are being trampled in the name of public safety, but I don’t feel safe.

On September 11, 2001 I watched and wept with millions of others as the evens unfolded on television. I can only imagine the horror that those present endured. Feature films have been released about the crash of United Flight 93 and the collapse of the Twin Towers, but I will never see them. The images of that day are burned into my brain, and I have no need to see them again.

Every year since that fateful day, I have asked for the same thing for my birthday: a media blackout. I don’t turn on the television or the radio and I don’t go where a TV may be showing the memorial broadcasts of 9/11. I hibernate and remember birthdays of a more innocent time, when I celebrated with my family, when my son was still alive, and when America was still free.