Everyone remembers exactly where they were on this day and what they were doing the moment they realized that the United States was under attack.  For most people, they watched like I did from their living rooms as everything unfolded like a nightmare.  Only this one, you could not wake up from.  This was happening whether you wanted to wish it away or not.

                At the time I was Aircraft Maintenance Controller for United Airlines at Chicago O’Hare.  I happened to be off that day because my wife and I had planned a trip to Washington D.C. that week.   She had never been there, and I had told her all about my experiences there as a child.  I told her how captivated I was with the sites of the city.  We planned to visit the White House and the Capital when we arrived.   The trip never happened as my wife had emergency surgery for gallstones only three days earlier, and she was in no shape to fly.

                About eight in the morning I had just come out of the shower and as usual, I turned on the news to see what was going on that morning.   The first thing I saw was a very tall building on fire which appeared to be from New York with the Breaking News icon on the bottom of the screen.  The news anchors were making commentary but I had the volume down to low to hear.   To me it looked like a typical room and contents fire that spread and now was wildly out of control.  It reminded me of the movie Towering Inferno with Steve McQueen and Paul Newman.

                My wife had just stepped out of the shower and I called back to her to tell her about the fire.   As I did my peripheral vision caught an object move onto the TV screen and smash into the building next to the one that was on fire.   I watched in utter disbelief at what I had seen.   A massive fireball erupted from the side of the building followed by thick black smoke.  I knew immediately what I had just witnessed.   I screamed to my wife to get in the living room right away.   When she arrived they had begun to replay what had just happened.   She nearly screamed when she saw the replay.   I said, “We are at war.” 

                A short while later we watched in horror as reports came in of the Pentagon being hit.  This felt so surreal.  This wasn’t supposed to happen I thought.   I ran through in my mind about who could have been orchestrated this.  I asked the same question most Americans were asking themselves, how could this have happened? 

As we watched further on the local stations, a Chicago station was reporting that a hijacked aircraft was inbound to the Chicago area.   “Your Dad,” Shouted my wife, reminding that my father was probably working that day in Illinois at Great Lakes Naval Base.   I was concerned if he might be sealed inside the base for the duration so I called him to make sure he was alright.   Thankfully, he was off work that day and he was home safe with my mother.  A wave of relief came over me when I talked to him.  

I was also a paid-on-call firefighter at that time, and I received a phone call from my Fire Chief wanting to know if I was ok.   He knew I worked for United and that I worked at O’Hare.  I told him that I was fine and off today but I asked him what the situation was at the firehouse.  He informed me that he was ordered by the village administrator to lock the firehouse down and close all window shades and that the police were going to escort us on every run today.   He placed me on standby because he nor did anyone else in America know what might be coming next.

As the day went on we found ourselves glued to the television and noticed how quiet it was outside.  There was hardly any traffic on the roads and it was quiet above the apartment.  Living in Kenosha, you are accustomed to hearing all the jest from Chicago fly over.  Today, everything was quiet.  I thought about calling into the Control office at O’Hare to see what was up, but I thought better of that.   The last thing they needed was me calling in and tying up a badly needed line.   I would be back in a few days anyway and we get the full story then.  It could wait.

We both witnessed the towers collapse, and my heart sank.  I knew that people had died, and were dying.  It was only later that it really tore at my gut when I found out three hundred and forty three fellow firefighters died in the towers.  To this day that still haunts me.   

When I returned to work a few days ago, I pieced together two more chilling events from September 11^th.   The first was that if not for my wife’s gallbladder surgery, we would have been in Washington D.C. that morning waiting in line to go into the White house at 8:30 A.M. and then to the Capitol at 9:30 A.M.   If the fourth hijacked plane had made it through to Washington, it probably would have hit the White House or the Capital  and perhaps us with it. 

The second was that before I was a maintenance controller at O’Hare, I was a jet mechanic in Indianapolis where United had a major aircraft overhaul dock.   I worked on Boeing 767’s when I was there.    When I first worked there I kept a log of the aircraft numbers that had come in for overhaul.  I did it just to know which aircraft I had worked on.   When I was informed of the aircraft number that hit the second tower, I went white as a ghost.   That aircraft was the second aircraft I had ever worked on while at United.   My thoughts went to a picture that was taken of me sitting in one of the engine intakes of that aircraft.   That picture hangs on a wall in my father’s house.  Once that airplane had completed its overhaul, I flew back with it on a maintenance reposition flight.   I sat in the jump seat on the flight deck the entire way to Boston’s Logan airport.   This is where some years later that this plane began its flight toward the second tower.

When I tell this story, I cannot help but think to myself that this is all made up.  This could not have happened to any one person.  There are too many coincidences to be real.   I wish it were so.    

I still have trouble watching a lot of shows about that day, but it gets better as more years pass.   I just hope we never go through that again.

            There have been many events throughout my life that I would consider important. For instance, the day I was born, the days my children were born, or the day I got my dream job were all very important facets in my life. But there is one day that sticks out in my mind that takes priority over all these other events. The day I am thinking about was a virtual turning point for me, making me the person I am today. This was the day I left the man I was supposed to be with forever, the father of my children, my husband.

            Some friends wonder why I still consider this to be an important time in my life and wonder why I just don’t forget about it. There were very many reasons behind my actions on this day. The reason that takes top priority is that I no longer felt safe. Actually, I had not felt safe, appreciated, or loved in a very long time leading up to this day. The events of this day had been a long time coming, like a spark that slowly lights into a full blown blaze of rampant fire. My only regret is that I wish this day would have come about sooner than it did.

            This day started out as any other Saturday. I woke up early, gently removing the covers so as not to disturb his sleep. I slowly crept into the kitchen, paying close attention to every step I took, so the floorboards would not creak, careful not to make even the slightest noise. As I was standing in the middle of the kitchen I had a horrible dilemma going on in my mind. Should I chance turning the light on and start cooking breakfast? Maybe not, it will make too much noise. But if the food isn’t ready when he does get up he will be really angry.

            Filled with anxiety and wondering what I should do, I leaned back against the counter and accidentally sent a glass flying through the air. I watched as the glass took on an almost slow motion effect falling to its fate and shattering into a million tiny shards on the hard linoleum.

            I thought to myself, “Oh no! What have I done?”

            Just then I heard a rustling coming from my bedroom. I knew then that what I had tried so hard not to do, I did. I had woken him up. I heard his feet hit the floor as he jumped out of bed. I heard him quickly walking towards the kitchen, chasing down the sound that had awoken him. I urgently and clumsily started reaching for the broom and dustpan. I immediately started sweeping up the broken glass, while thinking if that I just looked really busy, he wouldn’t be that mad. Too late.

            Before I knew it I felt an unsympathetic hand strike the left side of my face, spinning me almost full circle, leaving me reeling in pain. I knew he was yelling something about how wrong it was that I woke him up, but I had so much fear running through my veins I could not make out his exact words. As much as I wished, I knew this would not be the end of this situation. I knew he would not just go back to bed. I never expected him to say “sorry” because he never apologized for striking me in the past, but if only he would go back to bed, things would be fine. He did not go back to bed on this Saturday morning. He was not done with me yet.

            He kept on ranting and raving about how I had no respect for him and his peace and quiet. He grabbed me by the back of my hair and proceeded to slam my face on the same counter I knocked the glass off of. With his grasp still tight on the back of my head, he hurled me into the shelves across the kitchen that held our canned goods and dry food. Crash! I flew face first into the shelves and then sank to the floor along with the cans and jars from the shelves.

            Here I sat, crying, frightened, and humiliated covered in spaghetti sauce and glass sticking up out of my face and arms. But then something happened. I felt a feeling I had not had in a very long time. Anger. Where was this feeling coming from? I knew I was getting ready to say something, even though in the past when these incidents took place I was too afraid to speak because if I did not comply the beating would be worse. So I kept my mouth shut all those times before this day. I felt the words roll off of my tongue before I could stop myself from getting into more trouble.

            “You will never hit me again!” I could see the rage in his eyes as he started towards me with a horrible scowl on his face. He made his way to me through the mess that now lay about the kitchen floor. This scene also seemed to have a slow motion, dreamlike effect about it. As he ferociously reached down to pull me up and punish me some more, thoughts of the last thirteen years flashed through my mind. The bruises, the broken bones, the blood, the physical and emotional pain, and all the other horrible things he did to hurt me throughout our marriage made me want to vomit right then and there. How could I have let this happen? Why didn’t I leave long ago?

            As his hand got closer to me I blocked it away. He then had a look of confusion on his face because I had never fought back before. The confusion did not last long, though, the rage appeared in his eyes once more as he grabbed me by the neck. I somehow wriggled away from the hold he had on me. I then relayed the words I had spoken just moments earlier, “You will never hit me again!”

            He laughed devilishly and lunged towards me once more. This time I was no longer afraid of this monster. I felt a tremendous amount of power building up in my small frame, where it was coming from, I have not a clue. I lunged back towards him, my strength fueled by pure adrenaline, I reached up and grabbed him by the neck. With this new found power I threw him across the room which is an amazing feat, as I am only five foot three and weigh 125 pounds compared to his six foot three, 200 pound frame. But I did it, and with phone in hand I called the police as he sat dumbfounded on the floor staring at me.

            I walked out of that house of scary secrets that Saturday morning with a renewed sense of hope.

            The sun was shining as I walked with my children to our car. The knot that had been in my stomach for the last thirteen years loosened a bit. I felt strong. I felt happy. For the first time in many years I could smile and most importantly, I was proud of myself. I couldn’t wait to start my new life!

I believe in families being close and getting together as much as they can. I have been blessed with 106 relatives on my dad’s side of the family. He has twelve brothers and sisters. Having 13 children was a huge advantage for my Grandma and Grandpa Weyker since it helped them keep their strawberry and pickle fields running for many years. Unfortunately, when my Grandpa Weyker died, the family decided to get rid of the fields that they had owned for so long. After all these years my dad’s family is still proud of their hard work and what they accomplished, which is why the words pickles and strawberries are still brought up all the time at family gatherings.

One gathering in particular is our summer party which is held at my grandma’s house in a small town called Dacada, WI. During this party we have our official strawberries versus pickles softball game. We have the sisters and their families against the brothers and their families. The sisters are the strawberries and the brothers are the pickles. My family goes all out for this event. We have my Aunt Lori sing the national anthem and do the cheerleading, my aunt Lisa announces the game and my little cousins who are not old enough to play, do a sausage race. The children’s sausage race is followed by my aunts doing their own sausage race as well except they like to wear funny costumes. These races usually take place towards the end of the game. The winning team gets a trophy and bragging rights. I look forward to these strawberries versus pickles games every summer. I get the chance to see people I love and play the sport I love all in one gathering.

I feel that families need to hang out as much as they can because you never know when a loved one may pass away. I urge families to have some kind of tradition for relatives to look forward to every year because it will form a bond like the one I have with mine, which is one of the best feelings in the world.

 

And the Answer Is . . .

On one of the surveys I recently filled out, one of the questions was “What is one thing you want to understand more?” (or something like that).  I didn’t answer it in the survey because I knew that would take quite a bit of thought.  I’m not even sure that I will be able to actually put in words what I’m thinking, but I’ll try.  I would like to understand people.  Now I realize that’s a very broad statement, so I’ll try to encapsulate it a bit.  Why are people mean?  Why are people bitter?  Why are people so self-focused?  I realize not all people are mean, bitter and self-focused.  But I’m sure we all know quite a few who are.  What is so frustrating (frustration comes from lack of understanding . . . hence, my wanting to understand.) is that these people assume that their attitudes, their behaviors, their actions don’t affect anyone else in the entire world.  Pure ignorance.  Even if you are a single person, with no children and no family to speak of, unless you’re a hermit who NEVER leaves your house, you do affect others.  In your daily life, you affect others, whether you’re aware of it or not.  Cashiers in the grocery store, co-workers, people you pass on the street, people you talk to on the phone.  How selfish can you actually be to think that the poison you’re spewing will not seep into anyone else’s life?  Everyone knows how good it feels to get a random smile from a stranger on the street.  A cheerful good morning from the McDonald’s cashier (even when you’re going on 5 hours of sleep and you’d give anything to NOT be driving to work at 6:30 in the morning).  Our lives intertwine with so many others on a daily basis; I think if people would stop for just a second before making that derogatory statement or that sarcastic comment or forgetting to say thank you or not smiling back at the stranger, so many people would benefit.  How many times have you left your house and been in a perfectly pleasant mood until you pass that ONE person in the grocery store, or on the street, or standing behind you in line, or the rude customer service rep on the phone and all of a sudden, you’re mood is sunk.  When did simple pleasantries become a thing of the past?  When did it become ok to be an asshole to whoever, whenever?  Where did common courtesy and respect for others go?  This is what I would like to understand.  “Misery loves company”?  How ’bout “do onto others.”

I realize there is another aspect of people I would like to understand and that is lack of responsibility.  It is the cancer of today’s society.  People are incapable of taking responsibility for themselves and their actions.  It’s really very sad because, again, it not only affects you, but the people around you.  Mainly the people directly involved in your life.  Really, what is so hard about saying you did something wrong?  What is so hard about telling somebody you’re sorry that you’ve hurt them, wronged them, betrayed them?  I admit, I’m not the best at saying I’m sorry.  I’m not the best at admitting I was wrong or that I’ve hurt somebody.  It’s a blow to the pride, no doubt.  But come on, at some point, you grow out of that.  At some point you HAVE to reach the level of maturity that allows you to stop planning your own personal pity party and deal with the fact that you’ve fucked up, and you need to fix it.  We can’t control other people’s feelings; this is sometimes a hard concept to face.  But, we can have an impact on people’s feelings.  Saying you’re sorry for a wrong you’ve committed, saying you understand that person is hurting and even though you might not be able to make it right, you understand, and you want to support them.  And then realizing the behavior that caused that wrong to happen in the first place.  Was I being selfish?  Was I just being oblivious?  Is this something I can prevent from happening in the future?  The human soul is resilient, but not impenetrable.  Words do hurt, and lack of words can also hurt.  When somebody has wronged you and they take no action to correct that wrong, that hurt and disregard can penetrate the soul.  It can make the wounded desensitized, therefore acting in disregard and causing more wounding, a vicious circle.  Everyone has had pain, in some form.  Maybe you were abused as a child, maybe you were completely ignored.  Maybe you were used, mistreated by friends, family, strangers.  We learn the things we live, but we’re not incapable of changing.  Why continue to punish other people for the pain you’ve experienced?  Why not, instead, reach out to people?  Why not look inside yourself, recognize your failures, your limitations?  It’s scary, no doubt.  It’s scary to think that you can disappoint you.  When you’ve felt so much disappointment from all others in your life, why would you then want to put yourself in a position to disappoint yourself?  I get that.  Is that what prevents people from taking responsibility?  Isn’t knowing that if you dig into all the shit you’ll eventually come out with a diamond worth hurting for a bit?  It’s so easy to blame everyone else.  It’s so easy to blame a dad who wasn’t around, or a mom who was abusive, or the first boyfriend who took advantage of you, or a best friend who betrayed you, or a spouse who left you.  I can take that pain, I can take those hurts and become a bitter, angry, broken human being who only wants to continue hurting others.  Or I can take that pain, I can take those hurts and learn from them.  Learn how not to repeat the pattern.  I can pretend I have no responsibility to change, but why?  At the end of the day, when all those you’ve hurt have left you, when all you have is yourself to deal with, what happens then?  When nobody trusts you anymore because you’ve lied, you’ve betrayed, you’ve destroyed, then what?  Who will you go to then?  When you’re whole life has revolved around you, and you’ve pushed everyone so far away that they couldn’t even reach you if they tried, what will you do?  A word of advice from one entirely imperfect person to another: fess up (to your wrongs), give up (control), let go (of all the past pains and hurts), and forgive (those who have wronged you).  People will not think you’re weak if you admit to your shortcomings, to your mistakes.  We all have them.  We are human and we are fallible and the strongest thing you can do is to BE fallible, but BE responsible.

Stop to see the amazing imperfections all around you.   Keep living, keep learning, keep loving. 

Thanks for reading.

There lies a need in all of us to find peace and solitude in our lives, if even for a moment. We yearn to find a place to be alone, to enjoy the beauty around us. We yearn for simplicity and quiet. Life is hectic and noisy. It is full of drama and chaos. When we find that place, we treasure it. We go to it when we need to be comforted by the beauty around us, shutting out all that makes life a challenge. I have found such a place. It is in my own backyard. My secret place can be found on the shore of our lake at sunrise. In a way, the lake is like my mother. The tranquility I feel here is nurturing to my soul.

As I sat on a pier, dangling my feet in the cool water, on one warm fall morning, I gazed upon a scene only God could create. I looked out over the lake. I beheld a breathtaking scene. Just above the horizon, there was what looked like flames of hot, flamingo pink streaking across the azure blue of the early morning sky. At that moment, I wished I had a camera in hand to capture this beauty. The waters of the lake were like a mirror, reflecting the breathless scene before me. All the stars were gone, except for the three little sparkling stars that had refused to leave. Maybe, they weren’t sleepy or perhaps, they did not want to miss the rising sun? Just at that moment, the sun rose with its magnificent splendor. It appeared to be coming out of the lake. The sun looked like a sheet of diamonds. I couldn’t help but think that this glorious sight was upon me to give me hope of a better day.

I continued sitting on the pier. I couldn’t leave. I had become used to the water. The water felt refreshing against my feet. For a moment, I was tempted to jump in and take a swim. As I dangled my feet, a rush of memories filled my heart. The memories of summers spent with my grandmother at her lake home. I remembered fishing with a cane pole, swimming in an inner tube and drinking Pepsi cola out of a bottle. These summer memories have always brought me peace and happiness. They were a place in my heart to go when I needed to feel calm and loved.

All of a sudden, my attention was drawn to the geese and ducks on the beach. The sun seemed to have awakened the birds. There was a family of geese walking in a single line. As I watched them, I noticed how regal and even haughty they seemed. They walked stiff–like soldiers, their tall necks held high. This family of geese stayed in a straight line, even as they entered the water. I remembered thinking how serene they were. The geese seemed quiet, strong, and disciplined as they swam and fished for breakfast. Suddenly, the quiet was broken. I saw a little silver fox. He was frantically running up and down the beach. The fox was barking at a family of ducks out for their morning swim. Quacking was the only response the fox received. If the fox was inviting them to breakfast, they were turning him down. Watching this scene made me laugh. For a moment, my day was made a little brighter, a little happier.

Just as I was ready to leave, I noticed a unique bird on the beach. I had never seen a bird such as this. I wondered what had happened to its original emerald green and jet black feathers.  What I saw was a mesmerizing white duck. The duck was white, like the color of soft, fresh snow. Even its webbed feet were white, It is believed that white signifies peace, comfort and joy. Perhaps God sent him to let me know that in order to find peace in our world; we need to find peace in ourselves. Finding the place within ourselves or in the beauty of a sunrise will open our hearts and sooth our minds to make each day happier and fuller.

 

Bumpety bump . . . hustle, hustle. HURRY!

My fly is open, oh great.

Gotta quick zip that before the next person sees me and laughs. There’s a big bug on the windshield, and it’s blinding my view.

Push, squirt . . . push, squirt is what I hear when I use the wiper fluid to get that thing off my window.

Stop crumbling your nasty dollar bills into the slot. You stink. Take a shower for once in your life.

Clinkety-clank the old soda pop cans roll forward as I stop and backward as I speed up─ kind of fun like I’m directing a marching band.

“Does this bus take me to the mall?” she asked.

“Ma’am you are on specific route; it won’t take you anywhere you want to go. Which mall were you looking for?”  I politely divulge through my clenched teeth.

She just says, “Oh forget it, I’ll just ride for a bit until I make a decision.”

“Ok, then, you do that,” I said.

If that baby doesn’t stop screaming her lungs out, I may just burst.

Look at this guy falling asleep with his gum hangin’ out–hahahhah.

Slluurrppp! Belch, ahhh. The fresh taste of cold Mountain Dew slithering down my throat.

Another day of this, another day . . .  .