I text Tony minutes after I learn of the California fires. No, he responds, he hadn't heard yet, but he proceeds to pull up a few news videos to see what is happening.
He texts back: Just watched videos. That was our freeway.
The freeway behind our apartment, the university that's canceled classes and is waiting for possible evacuation--it was all part of our life experience--it's our history.
We were there, that spooky cloak that hangs over place, familiarity, and time past.
When the neighborhood, the freeway, the country flashes on the TV screen, the impact of the natural disaster, the terrorist attack, is compounded by our recognition.
It is why the murderous truck on the Promenade des Anglais (Nice, France) was extra shocking.
We were there. We'd walked and biked this peaceful path everyday for weeks. We cried with the last Ironman marathoners who barely made the cut-off time. We'd watched the international parade of people flow through and about this main artery of the city. We imagined turning around to see a roaring engine charging down the sidewalk.
We were in Tiannamen Square months before the student revolt, before the lone man stood face to face before the tank. We understood the immensity of the place, could imagine the hoards of fed-up people daring to question. Would we have had the courage to revolt against an oppressive government?
Tony was in a Jerusalem cafe days before terrorists attacked. With his escape from mishap, he had to imagine: What would I have done? Fought back? Cowered? Would I have survived? Why not two days later?
We were there; the 405 was right behind our house, UCLA is Tony's alma mater. What would it have been like: the smoke, the ashes, the risk?
While teaching the history of sexual harassment to seniors, after showing students congressional testimony of both Anita Hill and Clarence Thomas, they wanted to know if I was there-or if I remembered the incident having experienced it in real time.
"Oh yes," I answered.
"Was it all over the news?" They asked.
"Oh yes," I answered.
As well as I remember the Vietnam War, the day Nixon left on a helicopter, Monica and Bill, 9-11.
Just as someday they too will recall events, times, and place, and remember: We were there: I was there.
He texts back: Just watched videos. That was our freeway.
The freeway behind our apartment, the university that's canceled classes and is waiting for possible evacuation--it was all part of our life experience--it's our history.
We were there, that spooky cloak that hangs over place, familiarity, and time past.
When the neighborhood, the freeway, the country flashes on the TV screen, the impact of the natural disaster, the terrorist attack, is compounded by our recognition.
It is why the murderous truck on the Promenade des Anglais (Nice, France) was extra shocking.
We were there. We'd walked and biked this peaceful path everyday for weeks. We cried with the last Ironman marathoners who barely made the cut-off time. We'd watched the international parade of people flow through and about this main artery of the city. We imagined turning around to see a roaring engine charging down the sidewalk.
We were in Tiannamen Square months before the student revolt, before the lone man stood face to face before the tank. We understood the immensity of the place, could imagine the hoards of fed-up people daring to question. Would we have had the courage to revolt against an oppressive government?
Tony was in a Jerusalem cafe days before terrorists attacked. With his escape from mishap, he had to imagine: What would I have done? Fought back? Cowered? Would I have survived? Why not two days later?
We were there; the 405 was right behind our house, UCLA is Tony's alma mater. What would it have been like: the smoke, the ashes, the risk?
While teaching the history of sexual harassment to seniors, after showing students congressional testimony of both Anita Hill and Clarence Thomas, they wanted to know if I was there-or if I remembered the incident having experienced it in real time.
"Oh yes," I answered.
"Was it all over the news?" They asked.
"Oh yes," I answered.
As well as I remember the Vietnam War, the day Nixon left on a helicopter, Monica and Bill, 9-11.
Just as someday they too will recall events, times, and place, and remember: We were there: I was there.
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