I pledge allegiance, to the flag, of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands. One nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
There's been a lot coverage in the news lately about school children reciting the "Pledge of Allegiance." One court says it's unconstitutional, and that's followed by some folks in Congress raising a snit, and that's followed by CNN interviewing Pat Robertson, and that's followed by me clicking off the television.
I'm a product of a school system that started each day with the obligatory recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance, starting, I think, in first grade and eventually being phased out by my fifth grade year. I never really questioned why we stopped reciting it. We just did. One day we were standing with our hands over our hearts, the next day we weren't. It didn't affect my life much. Pledge or no pledge, I was still getting beat up every noon hour by the class bully. I really hated that kid.
I won't immerse myself in a logistical argument for or against reciting the Pledge of Allegiance in schools, because the lines have been drawn on this issue for some time, and it's not going to do any good to throw my two cents into the mix.
But, here's the deal about the Pledge of Allegiance, particularly as it applies to first graders: that is one COMPLEX pledge to learn verbatim, especially for a classroom full of youngsters who rarely use words exceeding three or four letters.
For one thing, the meaning of the Pledge of Allegiance was never really explained to my class. Or, maybe it was, I don't remember. I spent most of my elementary school days staring out the window, so I may have missed the explanation. What I do remember is, every morning, forming a semicircle around the flag and, upon a cue from the teacher, reciting some of the biggest and most nonsensical words I had ever heard up to that point in my life.
And there was always a student or two struggling to remember and pronounce the words. We'd wrap up the pledge, and then we'd have to wait for the stragglers to finish. We recited the pledge, each and every day, and I never once understood what the heck I was even saying. And it's not hard to see why. Let's just look at the words that make up the Pledge of Allegiance and how I remember interpreting them.
Pledge -- I didn't know what it meant to pledge. I had no clue. The only Pledge I was even remotely familiar with was used to dust wood furniture. So, right off the bat, in my little mind, I was imagining myself dusting around the house. Now THAT'S patriotism.
Allegiance -- You know, some adults don't even know what that word means. Seriously, the way I learned to pronounce it was to pretend it was like a sneeze. "Ah...ah...ah...ALLEGIANCE!" Bless you. Still, even though I learned how to pronounce it, I didn't know what it meant until years later.
Republic -- Try explaining the concept of a republic to a first grader, and you could count on one hand the seconds it takes for their eyes to glaze over or they start looking over your shoulder at the toy box they'd rather be playing in.
Indivisible -- Okay, readers, see if you can guess what Ryan Rhodes, in first grade, thought this word meant? That's right: INVISIBLE. One nation, under God, invisible. . . My imagination ran absolutely wild with this one. An entire nation that's invisible? Why, that's amazing!
Liberty -- My mind always conjured an image of the statue of liberty, because that was the only "liberty" with which I was familiar. So, in my mind, the Pledge of Allegiance must have, in some way, been promising everyone a visit to the statue of liberty. I still haven't seen it in person, and frankly I'm feeling a little bit cheated on the deal.
Justice -- I spent the better part of two years reciting "justice" as "just as." Of course, grammatically, it made no sense, but no one ever corrected me because it sounded so similar, so I just assumed it must have been right.
So, now that you have the background, let's revisit the Pledge of Allegiance as I understood it all those many years ago.
I promise to dust after I sneeze, to the flag, of the United States of America, and to the toy box for which it stands. One nation, under God, a really cool invisible nation that no one can see, with a visit to the statue of liberty, and just as for all.
That just HAS to be unconstitutional.
UPDATE: *snort* My aunt just sent me this little bit of first grader thinking about the Pledge of Allegiance. "The republic for Richard Stands." For some reason, that really makes me laugh.
The insanity continues! Here, once again, is the mind boggling musings of a certifiably insane man. He's in rare form, as always. Try to make sense of him if you can, or, as they say, go ahead and try to "understand" him. He must have a point, you know, like terrorists do, right? Riiiggghhhtt. -- Doctor Evil.
MACHEYE. Now I turn my attention to homeland security & my words are you know who you are & I know how you do it. Thanks for the brainstem teletype from space. You have many holes & many flaws which tells the story now & as the Macheye looks at this what can we say. We fell flat in 1964. One President & also Democratic freedom. So now what do we have. Very bottom line the black pearl of space of retardation of gangrene. R13FCC-L22-2-2050. We the people of the United States. Now would anybody like to help out?
Yup, yet another compelling argument about, well, something. This guy should be writing for Indymedia. He makes about as much sense. Anyhooo, there ya go, your weekly window into mental instability. I feel I'm a better person for reading it. Do you?
Two years ago, 3,000 Americans died in an act of terrorism so spectacular, so disastrous, so unbelievable, I still have a hard time understanding how, and why, it happened.
On that fateful day, as I watched footage of the attacks over, and over, and over again in a televised loop that eventually nauseated me, I stole time to write my weekly column. Here is my column, exactly as I wrote it that day.
"A Day Without Laughter" c. Ryan Rhodes, Sept. 11, 2001
I'm generally a jovial and innocent individual, and these traits are usually reflected in the playful content of my writing. In the wake of Tuesday's terrorist attacks in New York and Washington D.C., however, I have had little to be jovial or playful about, and my innocence has been severely shaken.
In fact, since news of the attacks first broke, I have yet to enjoy even one of my trademark full volume belly laughs, or engage in flippant and sarcastic conversation with anyone. Rather, I've maintained an air of stunned silence, not because I'm scared, but because I'm concerned. Oh, I'm also depressed, nonplussed, and indescribably angry.
I'm concerned for a number of reasons, not the least of which is because the once impenetrable borders of America have been penetrated, not through the conventional contrivances of war, but through the shadowy world of international terrorism, an attack medium in which the enemy is often nameless, faceless and, for all intents and purposes, omnipresent.
I'm concerned because the enemy, in this case, is armed with a weapon far more ominous than any bomb or nuclear weapon. Specifically, this enemy is armed with nothing less than ideas and beliefs, and the conviction to sacrifice themselves and the innocent in the name of their ideas and beliefs.
I'm concerned because, in an attempt to seek retribution and retaliation, the United States could spark a conflict for which the world is not prepared, a conflict that may involve chemical, biological, and even nuclear weapons.
Finally, I'm concerned that, in a debilitating catch-22, the American people will be asked to sacrifice their freedoms in the name of preserving freedom itself.
I'm depressed, horribly saddened by the loss of life both aboard the hi-jacked planes and in the targeted buildings. These were victims who had the modest dreams of day-to-day existence denied them by the barbaric actions of terrorists who believe all targets, military or civilian, are fair game when it comes to carrying out their cause. These victims will never again hold their families close, take leisurely strolls along park walkways bathed in the waning light of a majestic sunset, or sit with friends and enjoy the millions of simple everyday miracles we often take for granted.
I'm depressed because all of the deceased met their ends under circumstances that no person should endure, and many executed final acts indicative of how hopeless and frantic their situation was. Some of the victims, teetering high above the ground, made the horrific decision to plunge hundreds of feet rather than face the searing inferno promising to burn them alive. For the horror they experienced, I'm deeply pained.
I'm perhaps most depressed at my loss of innocence, and the loss of innocence of America as a whole. From this bleak Tuesday on, terrorist threats will be very real specters haunting the American psyche, and there will be a lingering trepidation each time I set foot in a potential terrorist target, whether it be an airliner or a national landmark building.
I'm nonplussed, locked in a periodic cycle of disbelief, each time I see footage of the second airliner burst into flames as it slammed into the side of World Trade Center Tower One. Similarly, I can't believe both towers, bastions of American economic power, can no longer be seen as part of the New York City skyline.
Awash in partially complete news reports and rampant rumors, I joined countless Americans across the country in a frantic guessing game of "what happens next." Informed that fuel prices were destined to skyrocket due to the attack, I sat in a gas line for 45 minutes waiting to fill my tank. There were no frazzled tempers at the pump, no impatient horn blaring, only the same wide-eyed look of uncertainty and disbelief on the face of every motorist I encountered. Where will all this uncertainty lead, and what can we do to return to even a semblance of a normal existence?
Finally, I'm angry, furious that America was attacked in such a cowardly and pointless exercise of terroristic subterfuge. Worse, my anger is directed toward an unknown source, a source who could just as well be another face in the crowds I pass each day.
I'm angry that the machine of American anti-terrorist intelligence was unable to see this attack coming, although I'm also aware that similar and more devastating terroristic plots have likely been foiled repeatedly by the same machine.
I'm angry that the individual I was yesterday has been forever altered by Tuesday's events and I desperately want my innocence returned and to feel whole once more.
And, perhaps more than anything, I want to laugh again.
Reading this again, after so many months of distance, I'm struck by how prescient that column was. It also brought me back to that disgusting day.
Only, it wasn't a disgusting day. It was a gorgeous day. Here in Minnesota, it was slightly cool, yes, but amazingly clear and sunny. You couldn't imagine a nicer September morning. It was as close to perfect as you can expect a day to be here in the Midwest.
I was late for work that day, owing primarily to the fact that I had been informed I would be laid off just the day before. I was on the cruise control known as two weeks notice, so I didn't have a lot of incentive to drag myself to work.
My alarm clock radio went off, and as I fumbled for the snooze button, I sleepily made out the announcers saying something about a plane hitting the World Trade Center. I remember thinking, "Well, that pilot sure screwed up," thinking it was just a single seat Cessna.
The alarm went off again, and this time the announcers were more frantic, more desperate. Another plane smashed into the other WTC tower. I sat bolt upright. All the rules of coincidence told me this couldn't possibly be one.
"The World Trade Center has been attacked! They attacked the World Trade Center!" said an astonished voice on my crackling radio alarm.
They.
They?
Who the fuck are they?
Of course, now I know who "they" are. But, at that time, I had no idea who "they" were, and frankly I didn't care up to that point. Names like Osama bin Laden and al Zawahiri, and groups like the Taliban and al Queda were as alien to me as E.T.
Stunned, I got ready to go to work, forgetting entirely to even click on my television. Had I seen the footage and the unbelievable events that seem surreal even to this day, there's no way I would have left the house. I would have been glued to my television all day.
Outside, in that glorious September air, it seemed inconceivable that New York was enduring a terrorist attack. Then, as I drove to my hated workplace, with my radio on, I heard that the Pentagon had been hit and that as many as four other planes were unaccounted for.
"What the fuck is going on?!" I screamed at the windshield, scanning the skies for errant planes.
Once at work, I saw enclaves of stunned IBMers discussing the unbelievable. I caught snippets of conversation, all of them sounded too incredible to be true.
At my desk, I tried to log on to the Internet, only to find that it was practically at a standstill due to the insane amount of traffic flowing through cyberspace. As MSNBC.com slowly loaded, I saw the fireball that engulfed Tower One, and for the first time it hit me just how dire the situation truly was. People were dying. A LOT of people were dying. And that's when I noticed the first tears streaming down my face. It all seemed so pointless, so hateful, so wrong, there was nothing else to do but weep in disbelief.
Then, over the IBM loud speaker came the most callous and despicable public address ever. I can't remember the exact wording, but it went something like this: "Due to the events occuring in New York City, network traffic has been overloaded. Please restrict your Internet use only to business needs and keep focused on your weekday as usual."
Un-fucking-believable. You could hear workers up and down the halls yelling their displeasure at that announcement, and for good reason. IBM got the message: about a half hour later, all the television kiosks in the hallways had been switched over to news coverage and workers crowded around the terminals, thirsting for any and all information. Some were crying; all were stunned.
The rest of the work day consisted of one unbelievalbe image after another, after another, after another. Nothing made sense. Everything changed. Everywhere. Forever.
UPDATE: For those who believe in "understanding" terrorists and trying to see their point.
You want understanding? Fine. Let's try to understand together.
The Muslim religion flourished for hundreds of years after its founding. Largely a religion of peace, it gave rise to a culture that excelled in the arts and sciences, despite repeated Crusades to take back the Holy Land. Then, in the 1700s, some moron had a dream that he shared with a Muslim cleric. The cleric translated that dream to mean that the man's son would give rise to a new type of Islamic worship. It turned out not to be his son, but his grandson. Oh well, skipped a generation, I guess. The individual's name, Wahhab, and his Wahhabism strain of strict Koran interpretation took hold in what is now Saudi Arabia. Among its teachings were strong misogynistic tendencies, a condemnation of innovation, an all-encompassing adherence to daily prayer, and pretty much zero tolerance of non-muslims, or infidels. Wahhabism is the state religion of Saudi Arabia today. So, pretty much, that part of the Middle East, the most holy part of the Middle East, has been stuck in the 1700s.
But, not the rest of the world. We've moved on. We've become technologically advanced and are gradually becoming enlightened as a society. We try to value all races, all genders, all beliefs. They do not. That would be fine if they just sat on sand. We'd be more than happy to let them live in their backwards little worlds of state-run religions. But, in the 1930s, damn it, we found out they have oil. They actually DO have something we need. Like it or not, we do need that oil, for now anyway. So, the Middle East stagnation met Western progressivism, and it has NEVER been a pleasant introduction. We're infidels, after all. But, we're infidels with really neat things, and a whole shitload of money, and the ruling classes of the Middle East tend to like that money thing. Not that they're willing to share that wealth with their starving masses or anything, but whatever.
Ah, but the starving masses care that they're starving, and they want answers. So, they're told by the clerics that the cause of all their misery is the decadence of the West. Sure, that doesn't make any damn sense at all, but when you're hungry and miserable, you'll believe most anything. So, they've been pretty surly with us since the 1930s, at least, and probably well before that. And it didn't help that the major powers of that time were out conquering new territories for colonization.
Then, the whole WWII thing broke out, bringing war to the Middle East because tanks and planes need gas to kill. That kinda sucked, and pissed them off even more. And, of course, there was the whole holocaust thing that resulted in the mass killing of Jews in numbers so staggering it's hard to wrap your mind around it. Plus, they were still hated by many European countries after the world, so the displaced Jews found themselves in the Holy Land, and in 1948 the U.N. decided that they deserved their own nation, which they did. The initial plan was to create two nations, Israel and Palestine, but the Palistinians didn't like that idea much, so a major war broke out between many Middle Eastern countries determined to drive Israel off the map, and little America-backed Israel. Israel kicked ass, because most of the Middle East can't fight their way out of a paper bag. This pissed off the already pissed off Middle East even more.
Oh, and the people are still starving, despite enough oil money flowing into most Middle Eastern countries to at least keep poverty at bay, but the ruling classes just don't like to share. So, they keep blaming the West, and now they had Israel to blame as well. All the better.
Which is pretty much where we're at now, except now some groups want an even more strict interpretation of the Koran than even Wahabbism expounds. These groups of Islamic Fundamentalists have all the anger and hatred in the world, for all the reasons listed previously. They're also pissed that they suck so bad. They're mad that they're nothing. They're mad that they're so damned irrelevant.
So, in order to show that they're relevant, they blow shit up. They kill themselves and others, usually innocents, so they can say "see, we matter, too," even though they don't.
They don't have a point. They don't have a message. They simply want to kill people who aren't "them." That's the reality, no matter how much you try to understand them.
UPDATE: Always, ALWAYS, remember.
And, apparently, he has a British accent. I found that weird. I don't know why.
Inspired by Michele's Voices project, I intend to post tomorrow about my own take on the 9/11 two year anniversary. Actually, I intend to post it this evening.
It's maddening, really, to hear people say that America should "get over" 9/11, as if that horrendous event was nothing more than a stubbed toe on the way to the refridgerator. I mean, I agree that, as a nation, we should move on, but we should never "get over" what happened that day.
We should be outraged, pissed, stunned, saddened, anguished, resolute and solemn all at the same time every time we see a picture of the crumbled towers or see footage of that doomed second aircraft slicing through the second tower.
That day should forever serve as a microcosm of America's place in the world. During one horrifying morning, America looked up to see an explosion of hate threatening to tear apart the very fabric of Democracy. Many of us realized, for the first time, that our great nation is reviled by sick fundamentalist groups who are at their happiest when they're miserable. The word "freedom" rings hollow for them. We should never forget that.
I have a picture saved on my computer at home. It's hidden, difficult to find, because normally I don't want to find it. But, sometimes, when I need a reminder of the importance of the drastically revamped American foreign policy of pre-emptive warfare, I wind my way back to that picture: a picture of a man, falling head first from one of those ill-fated towers, a man who, until that ugly morning, had hopes and dreams not unlike the hopes and dreams of all of us. He simply wanted to live. But he wouldn't. Not that day. That day he had to jump to escape the searing heat and suffocating smoke. Get over that? No fucking way.
Yeah, it's anticlimactic, but what do you have to say? Eh? Eh? Can't hear you?
Michael Snider, reporter for Canada-based Macleans, and a fellow blogger (where HAVE you been lately, man?), wrote a fun article regarding the community aspect of blogging. Plain Layne, as should be the case, got top billing as a top blogger. Now, maybe Layne has the validation she needs to start writing professionally and drop her career as a Minicorp manager, a job that is robbing her of her personal life, and her readers of a great novel. Of course, a few other familiar bloggers are mentioned (moi being one of them).
But, read the article, and then start blogging, because I need something else to distract me from work.
People often ask me, "Ryan, what's the best part of attending tech conventions." Actually, people never ask me that, but if they did, I'd tell them "The free food and beer."
Oh, and sitting out at the swimming pool during the break watching scantily clad women. That's nice, too.
Since my flight left Rochester at 5:25 a.m. Saturday morning, which, technically speaking, is well before the ass crack of dawn, it's understandable that I slept the entire way to Orlando. And I mean, I slept. HARD. Worst moment of the flight? I was soundly sleeping, entered REM mode, and had a dream that the plane I was on was about to crash. And I mean this was a VIVID dream. We were just about to crash land, with all the passengers crying and praying when, at the moment of impact and mayhem, the pilot of the plane in the real world, not my dream world, came over the loud speaker to announce our final descent into Orlando. I almost woke up screaming my ass off. Terrifying.
But, we landed with no problem.
Beer's empty. Must return to convention.
Did I mention that I had to attend a convention in Orlando this week? I have to attend a convention in Orlando this week. Nice hotel. Really nice, actually. It's a toned down version of the gaudy Opryland I stayed at in Indianapolis many, many, many months ago. Yes, the Gaylord Palms is quite nice, and my room is HUGE. I keep expecting someone else to come in and share the room with me.
At any rate. blogging will be light, at least until Wednesday. I'll post cryptically whenever I can steal away to the semi-circle of laptops that constitute the Internet area. Now I must find a Diet Pepsi, if possible. Unlikely though, so I may have to opt for Diet Coke. Forgive me, Pepsi, for I know not what I do.
