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I Hope The Russians Love Their Children, Too

“There is no monopoly of common sense on either side of the political fence.” – Sting


The song “Russians” by Sting, with its haunting music and bone chilling lyrics echoes in my head as I consider the decision today by President Obama to ask Congress for permission to proceed with military strikes against Syria.  I’m not a political person.  I don’t declare affiliation with any particular political party, because I believe if you support an opinion instead of a person, at some point, it might encourage us all to work together for the greater good as opposed to pushing a personal agenda.  So to be honest, I had to ask why we would even want to get involved in Syria.  I’m not saying that we shouldn’t be exceedingly angry at the leaders of the Syrian government for annihilating the innocent people of Syria.  Part of me thinks the people of Syria need to rise up against their sadistic government.  But mostly I think I was wondering what impact this would have on the people of the United States.

I feel like since 9/11, we have walked around with a target on our backs, daring another country to try to do what Osama bin Laden did to our people.  We swore we would continue to live our lives, defiant in the face of attack.  We were determined not to allow a terrorist attack to influence our daily lives, as it would give the appearance of caving to terrorist threats.

But this scares me.  What if someone has a weapon that hits that target we so truculently parade around wearing?  Have we reached a point where we are walking around in a Teflon bubble, and that makes us a challenge to people like the leaders of Syria, who will retaliate and do to our children what they did to their own?

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There are weapons too horrible to even discuss in the hands of all the wrong people.  I don’t know if it’s a good time to piss those people off.  And my thoughts are, seriously, since it’s been made very obvious that the Syrians don’t, I hope and pray that the Russians love their children enough to not want them hurt.  Like I don’t want mine hurt.

“What might save us, me and you, is if the Russians love their children, too.”

One World

What I Want My Kids to Know about 9/11

You know exactly where you were.  It is our generation’s day that will live in infamy.

I sat on my sofa, watching Good Morning America, folding socks.  I save sorting socks for those days when I can find NOTHING else to do.  My seven month old Eilis was in her gym-thingy.  Brighid was in school.  Jim was at work, just across the water from New York City.  Granuaile was nothing more than wishful thinking.

I called Jim immediately when the first plane hit.  He was a small plane pilot, and I thought not only would he be intrigued, but I thought he’d explain to me how a plane could be that wrong in it’s directions.  Minutes later, we knew what we know now.

But two of my children do not.

I left Brighid in school that day, although other moms were running to pick their kids up.  I wanted her day to be normal, because honestly, I feared it would never be normal again.  Visions of war torn countries played in my head, where children play among the rubble of bombed out buildings.  I wanted her to have one more normal day.

It’s 10 years later.   We’ve all grown into a new normal and learned how to live life with terror threats over our heads, but really, we’ve remained – at least on US soil – relatively unscathed.  We learned about the rainbow system used for alerting us of the potential of a terror attack; we know to wear socks when we go to the airport; and most of us recognize the importance of scrutinizing our carry on bags.

But what do we tell the children who don’t remember? 

They’re going to see it on the news and in magazines.  They’ll probably hear something in school or in the community.  So I want my girls to know something.  This is what I want them to know:

Not everyone learned what they should have learned in kindergarten – that we should all be nice to each other and try to get along.  Some people never learn.

We are as safe as we can possibly be, thanks to thousands of soldiers and sailors who protect us, even when we’re sleeping; even when we’re at school; even when we’re at Dram’s; and even when we’re at the playground. 

Be grateful – always – for the sacrifice these men and women make for us.  Be grateful – always – for the sacrifice their families make so that they can protect us. 

Know that sometimes, these soldiers and sailors don’t get to go home to their little girls and little boys.  They get a new job – guardian angel.  Remember in your prayers their little boys and girls.

You want heroes?  You won’t find them on the football field, the basketball court, in concert, or on television.  You’ll find them right in our neighborhood, protecting us and keeping us safe.  We call them policemen and fire fighters.

Most of all, I want them to know that 2,998 angels were born on September 11, 2001 – including Nanny’s cousin Andrew – and as a result, we became a better country.  We were proud, we stood strong in the face of danger, we linked arms and promised each other we would never forget.

Let’s hope we never do.