Brilliant … But Bouncy

Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning?

Almost 3,000 people died in the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001. Three thousand people. We all watched in horror from our living rooms, our schools, our workplaces.

We watched in horror because nothing so terrible had ever happened to our country – not in our lifetimes, not since World War II, which most of us had only heard about from relatives – or history books.

For weeks after 9-11, we cried for those we lost. We cried for the children whose fathers and mothers didn’t come home. We sobbed over stories of heroism and bravery that saved some lives but couldn’t save others. Three thousand lives were lost – and there was nothing we could do to change it. We flew flags from our porches and our cars. We flew flags at half-mast for eons.

Together, as Americans, we supported the families of the loved ones who were lost. We, as a nation, cried together.

Alan Jackson wrote a song that encompassed 9-11: Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning? If I ever forget exactly how I felt during that time, I listen to that song.

Fast forward 19 years.

People died in China. Then they died in the U.S. Then a few more people died. Then a bunch more.

A new virus had taken hold of the world.

Eventually, three thousand people died – again. The newspapers reported the irony: death numbers from coronavirus in New York City were higher than the number of deaths from 9-11.

Then three thousand more people died. Then another 3,000 people – and another 3,000 people – and another 3,000 people. In fact, so many people died that we’ve basically hosted fifty-two separate 9-11 terrorist attacks.

Imagine 52 days just like 9-11.

But this time, we are not sitting around crying. We are not rallying together, in support of one another, sending prayers for the families who have lost loved ones – 158,000 loved ones.

There are no waving flags – not anywhere. No one is writing songs about our sorrow. In fact, no one seems to even care that people are dying – lots and lots and lots of people are dying.

Instead, they’re talking about percentages: Not everyone dies, they say. My odds are good, they say.

Thousands of people are going about their lives like everything is awesome – or at least “normal.”

We are supposed to stay indoors, isolate, take care of our families. We are supposed to support our communities by staying home. And if we must go out – and honestly, we all must go out – we should put a mask on our faces, so that we (please) don’t contaminate and possibly kill our neighbors.

Most of my family – my loved ones – and my dearest friends are diligently doing this.

But some aren’t.

And a whole lot of strangers aren’t. They won’t wear the masks, they won’t stay indoors, and they sure aren’t supporting their neighbors.

Fifty-two terrorist attacks so far – and not a single tear shed as a country. Instead, we’re bickering. We’re screaming about freedom while the rest of the world laughs – and cries – at our misfortune.

The rest of the world is crying, watching us, as they secure and stabilize their own countries. The way we cried about Italy.

The rest of the world is looking at us the way we looked at the poor, starving children from the Sally Struthers commercials – their wide, vacant eyes.

“Won’t you please help?”

We are now the saddest, most pathetic country on the planet.

But instead of mourning our losses and doing what we can together, we are arguing. How many more times does the world have to stop turning for us to actually do something about it?