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Amy's Story
SMASH
The following comment was posted by "Amy" in response to my "Christmas Ambush" post at The Indepundit:
Wow. This post reminded me of the changes that took place in me on September 11th. I'm 17 now, then I was in eighth grade. I grew up in a family that was dysfunctional at best. There was abuse from my dad, and mom wasn't around much. When they did get together it was either to fight, or to figure out what life I was going to lead. Teenage hormones compounded all of this and 7th grade into eighth grade I was-- well, depressed, suicidal, and cutting. My grades plummeted and all I could remember was feeling despair. Days when I was asked to salute the flag, I would sit out, thinking that I didn't want to pledge my loyalty to the flag; what if they wanted me to fight, to actually live up to those words that all my classmates threw around so freely. All I could think about was how much my life sucked. How little I had to live for. I, I, I. Like many, my depression was focused on one thing: me. I didn't support a lot of the policies that Clinton had held up and I was pretty disenchanted with America in general. Then came the fatal day.
When eighth grade came I had sought out some help for my various issues, and was in counseling, thankfully. All I remembered, when sitting in my first period class, was watching the buildings, watching a national emergency crisis. I remembered reading the newspaper that morning, before the events had happened, reading about all sorts of silly issues that paled in comparison the image seared into my retinas of 757s slamming into the World Trade Center. The summer before I had visited those towers, stood in the Pentagon. Seen faces. They all scrolled in my mind's eye like tickertape. Who survived? Who died? I remembered the volume of people. Lives. Snuffed out and destroyed, because of...? What? I remembered crying, calling frantically to get a hold of my mother who was flying that day. I recalled the earlier bombing of the WTC by Osama bin Laden, and I remembered thinking: 'that's who did it'. And suddenly, it wasn't about me. And by the end of the day, I saluted my flag.
America to me ceased being the policies of an administration, or taxes, or the pop culture that I snubbed. It was the about the idea of freedom, liberty, life, and the right to pursue happiness. And as I went to the library at lunch, and pulled up everything I could find on Osama bin Laden, on the Middle East, on terrorism, I read the state of nations like Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, Iran, and Iraq. Things that I had previously not paid attention to. My early life was hardly easy, but it didn't compare to being sold into slavery for $35 dollars in Northern India. It was nothing like being forced to wear a veil in Iran. It couldn't hold a candle to not being able to leave the house without a male escort, as in Afghanistan. And it struck me how lucky I was to live in the United States. I had food in my stomach, a roof over my head, and just by owning CDs and going onto high school was going to accumulate more wealth than many would ever see. The things that I had taken for granted others were viciously denied, sometimes by the same people who had just deprived my countrymen and women of their right to live. My life, I decided, was not just about me. My actions affect others. I, too, made a promise to defend the United States, even if it cost me my own life. What was one person-- me-- compared to millions of Americans?
I wasn't old enough to enlist, but I was old enough to start the process. Knowing how important the Middle East was going to be I started to read-- lots. Keeping abreast; I supported the invasion of Afghanistan, and cheered with the Afghanis on the T.V. Having done my own research, I also supported Iraq and continue to, though the trendy thing is to forget all about it. My classmates and peers brush off politics as I once did, and often compare Bush to Hitler and deplore the 'militaristic society'. The US is militaristic? I'd hate to think what other countries are.
I'm 17 now, and I'm probably enlisting. Others have tried to dissuade me. "You'll get sent to Iraq. You won't come back." My response: "Good. I want to go. And I'm not afraid of combat. I'm more of afraid of living my life, as if it's more important than what we're fighting for." There's a much bigger picture here, than just oil, or politics, or whatever this war is being painted up to be. Glory, or whatever-- it's ultimately about people. I'm ready to fight for what I believe in. I'm ready to use my knowledge and skills for the benefit of my country.
September 11th changed my life. It taught me about myself, by teaching me about everyone else. It taught me that no matter how bad I have it, some one else has it worse. It taught me that just because I disagree with politics, doesn't mean I disagree with what a nation stands for. It taught me that there are some things worth fighting for. And it taught me the dangers of complacency, appeasement, and running from one's fears. It taught me to be prepared. But most of all, it taught me that my best hope for myself was not to live my life as if I was afraid of losing it to my parents or to my country. It taught me that giving to others is giving to myself. All the death showed me what life was, and all the destruction saved me. So when you ask, are YOU engaged in this fight, I am to a certain degree-- I am combating disinformation as best as I can, and I am supporting charities and our troops. Soon I'll be 18, and the ink will be drying on the enlistment papers, and I will put all I've learned into action on behalf of the United States. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of all that threaten it, is the stuff I want to be made of.
God Bless you, Amy -- and good luck.
