Theme:Week Two

The bell rang at 8:50 AM and biology class was over for the day. My friend PJ and I got up and gathered our backpacks. Following our daily routine, we began walking to our next class. We were both excited for the first game of the season; PJ played football and I cheered, and our enthusiasm was exacerbated because this was our first regular-season Friday night game ever, our debut. We were finally sophomores. PJ was thirsty so we stopped at the water fountain by the boy’s bathroom. I was leaning against the cement wall when our friend Bailey appeared out of nowhere, overcome with excitement. “My mom’s having the baby today!” she squealed, beaming. “I’m being picked up right now to go to the hospital!”

We were mid-hug when the principal’s grave voice echoed from the loud speaker. “The World Trade Center has been struck by a plane. Please go straight to your next class where you will remain for the rest of the day. You may go home if you like. Your teachers will give you the opportunity to contact your parents.”

My stomach sank, the confusion was overwhelming. PJ’s tan face went white and Bailey hugged me tighter as she softly repeated the words, “My mom’s having the baby today….”

PJ and I didn’t speak one word to each other as we walked up the ramp to Mr. Wingard’s human geography class. When we entered the room, the television was on and I saw the horrific images of smoke polluting the air, the chaos. The reporter was visibly shaken as she repeated, “Oh my God” and regrettably informed the American public that nobody knew exactly what happened. A few minutes later we found out another plane hit the World Trade Center and it was later confirmed the country was being attacked by terrorists.  On September 11, 2001 between nine and ten AM, my naïve perspective of the world was challenged as I questioned everything I believed to be good and just. This was the country I loved, the country that allowed me to believe in my dreams; to me, it was the greatest country in the world and we were being attacked. For the first time I realized that other people didn’t have the same love for the United States, that some people hated Americans.  My eyes couldn’t leave the screen and the more I watched reporters struggling to control their emotions as they recounted the events of the day, the more I realized the magnitude of what was going on. It had to be bad if we could go home, if we were expected to stay in one room for the remainder of the day to watch it.

As the day went on and pieces of information about the attacks were revealed, another plane hit the Pentagon. A final plane appearing to be targeting Washington DC crashed to the ground in Pennsylvania, as the heroes on board tried to overthrow the hijackers. My classmates sat together, our mouths agape, as we learned how evil humans can be.

My carefree attitude was gone; the football game didn’t matter anymore or any of the other trivial priorities in my life. I grew up a little bit that day; I became empathetic to strangers as I realized we are all connected; for the first time I was aware of danger and felt unsafe. I thought about other people’s rights and stopped taking mine for granted. I realized you could wake up in the morning, the sun could be shining and you could have everything you ever wanted in life but that it could all be taken away in a second.

High school came and went. There were countless Friday night games and four homecomings. I went to prom, was a yearbook editor and graduated with honors.  The lessons learned on September 11 stayed with me throughout. Hell-bent on getting out of Maine, I was off the Halifax, Nova Scotia to study….something. Halifax was a beautiful, progressive city; environmentally friendly, liberal, and culturally rich. I saw it as the perfect place to grow and start my new, independent life. Dalhousie had a beautiful campus with historic stone buildings that look like castles. It was spread out and large, I could see the Atlantic Ocean from my dorm window, the waves crashing on the stone beach. It felt good to be part of something bigger.

Back in the States (after only two months, I had adopted the Canadian way referring to America), it was an election year but more importantly, it was the first year I was old enough to vote. I was disappointed I wasn’t able to get to experience going to the polls but I submitted my absentee ballot before I left for school. To my surprise, everybody in my dorm was excited about the election as well. Even better, they all wanted Bush out of office as much as I did. It wasn’t uncommon for people to marvel, “Wait…you’re American? You really don’t seem like you are….” I always laughed and defended my country, while being secretly happy I didn’t fit the stereotype of superficiality and self-importance.

Election night came and we all corralled in the basement of our dorm to watch the events unfold. Cliff, one of the RA’s, was passionate about politics and eager to learn about the American system of voting. I was bombarded with questions about delegates and no matter how I explained it; they didn’t understand why the system is in place. The convoluted rules and confusing system made no sense to them, why didn’t we just count the votes? Aren’t the votes what it’s supposed to come down to?

We sat up all night as the results poured in. The race between Bush and his opponent John Kerry appeared to be tight and I was hopeful that by morning my country would have a new leader. I was happy to spend my first election with my Canadian family. The eagerness they exhibited for something that didn’t directly involve them was refreshing and I couldn’t think of a time in my life where anyone I knew invested emotionally in an event that didn’t directly concern them or their country. In fact, nobody at home ever got riled up over anything except how much money we’re spending on the war and the attacks on us. Everything was always about “us.” We certainly didn’t pay attention to the Canadian elections. For the first time, I saw why people in other countries dislike Americans and that as a whole; the country is self-absorbed.

I was sad to leave Halifax when school ended in April 2005. I couldn’t get enough student loans to cover the cost of tuition and couldn’t make enough money to cover the difference myself. I knew I wouldn’t be returning as I went over the steel bridge leaving the city. Tears filled my eyes as Coldplay crooned an appropriately sad song. I was a different person than the cheerleader I was when I arrived nine months before. At that moment, I would have done anything to stay in Canada where everybody recycled, homeless people didn’t sleep on the streets, and life wasn’t driven by money.

Three years later, I was working sixty hours a week at two jobs, and money controlled my life. I was broke. Exhausted all the time and discouraged, I was waiting to turn twenty-three and be considered and independent student by the United States government so I could receive financial aid without my parent’s tax information. I needed to finish my education. I knew I wouldn’t be happy unless I returned to school and I was slowly biding my time, working jobs I hated.

Thankfully, there were other things to focus on and the winter of 2008 had an exciting start. Two Democratic Presidential candidates came to Bangor for the primaries, Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama. My mother and I stood in line for two hours in the wintery cold to hear Obama speak. We bundled up and chatted with people outside of the Bangor Auditorium. Once inside, the wait was worth it. His words were spoken with confidence and he offered solutions to real problems. He had an uncanny way of connecting with the audience. People were smiling, excited and empowered.   For the first time in a long time, I saw people unite over something positive and it was like the whole mood of the country changed. People on both sides were passionate and interested in the election. Once it became clear Obama would be the Democratic presidential candidate, the real excitement began. He was motivating and calm; to me, he was everything the country needed to move forward and put the last eight years behind us.  There was hope.

A record-number of people voted in the presidential election of 2008, showing a sense of urgency within the public. More people were clued in, more people wanted to get involved in how their lives were run on a larger level.

Unlike the last election when I reluctantly went to bed without knowing who won, the results were in by ten PM. Obama had won the presidency and things were going to change. My best friend Shane, one of the few high school friends that survived the transition into adulthood, was a passionate Republican (and huge Sarah Palin fan). We did everything together and shared every aspect of our lives except our political views. He called me and said, “We shouldn’t discuss this if we still want to be friends” and I agreed. After all, we had already decided not to watch any political debates together after the first one when Shane stormed out of my living room, so angry he went home. My friendship intact and my candidate in office, I was a happy girl. Twenty-three, I was going back to school in the fall. I had a sense of inner-peace and was excited in a way I hadn’t been in years.

It is now 2012, another election year but the excitement is gone. Hope for change has died and the Republican primaries are underway. Either way, the general consensus is that things are worse than ever, people are back to believing everybody lies and promises are always broken. They’re angry, joined together as the 99% by their dissatisfaction and distrust in the government. Quite the contrast from four years ago when Obama’s approval ratings were through the roof. People are upset with Obama’s performance, their impatience clouding reason; they forget that it takes a long time to create a problem and it takes a long time to fix a problem. They don’t acknowledge if people in office aren’t willing to work with him, to compromise and flex, they can’t accomplish anything.

Politics aren’t fun without Shane here to banter with, one more thing that’s changed. On 9/11 I learned that life changes in a second, something I didn’t truly understand until it happened to me on July 17, 2010 and I lost my best friend. Waking up that morning and learning of the deepest loss of my life, my world stopped. It seemed that nothing matters without the ones you love but you have to move forward, persevere through the dark times, both personally and in a larger sense.

I couldn’t do it right away. Shane’s death made me re-think everything I thought I wanted in life. I dropped out of Husson after a dismal fall 2010 semester; my motivation was gone. I moved to Colorado, hoping the change would rejuvenate me. I harbored hope I would find something in the snowcapped mountains I had lost; maybe something I never had before. The only thing I learned was that you can’t run away and was more miserable than ever. I came home. Went back to school to finish what I started and began living my life again, the life I always envisioned for myself. Still, the end goal isn't as important as it used to be. Now, it's about the journey.

Shane would be fired up this election year; he’d be working tirelessly to convince others that his candidate was the best. He’d volunteer for their campaign and work for free, doing his part. His dedication has stayed with me, the commitment he gave to everyone he loved, the passion he had for life and his country.  His favorite song was “God Bless the USA.” Throughout the years, it had become a joke between us to randomly sing it in front of strangers; we’d barely get through it because we were laughing so hard. It didn’t matter our voices were off key, or that people thought we were crazy. Often times, people would start to sing along, wide smiles spread across their faces. Those were the best times.