Exponentially Engstrom: The Fifteenth Day; Monday, the 14th of July, 2014

Today, walking through New York, I thought of an idea for a comic strip.

Since I paint rather better with words than any other medium (trust me; my drawing is leaves a lot to be wished for), I will tell it in story format, leaving it up to one of my artist friends to turn it into a true comic strip.

Once upon a time, there was a group of naughty boys. Having eluded their mothers and their chores, they were gathered, at great risk to their own persons, in their secret hideout. Unfortunately, in the flurry to get away, they had forgotten to plan exactly what they would do once they reached the secret cave.

So they were sitting, rather disconsolate, in a circle, loath to go home and face the unpleasant consequences they knew were waiting for them.

Tommy, the tallest, sighed. He was promptly copied by the other two boys. Then Ralph spoke what they were all thinking.

“I’m bored” The others gave their hearty assent.

“What should we do?” asked Stan.

“Dunno” said Ralph dully.

Suddenly Tommy spoke up. “I’ve got an idea.”

“What?” Stan sat up.

“Let’s all say the worst words we can think of.”

((don’t look at me, it wasn’t my idea!))

“Ok!!” Ralph was enthusiastic now. “I’ll go first!”

“Go ahead” said Tommy, eagerly.

“@#!” said Ralph.

“Wow, those were good.” Tommy was impressed. “My turn”.

After he had spoken the worst words he could think of, they turned to Stan. “Go ahead” they urged, almost in unison.

He paused for a moment, then stood up. With all the impressiveness and dignity an eleven-year-old boy could muster, he gravely yelled, “HONK!!!!”

The other boys fell back, disappointed and bewildered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!?!” Tommy was exasperated.

Stan shrugged. “Well, that’s what the cars say when they get really, really mad. I thought it must be a pretty bad word.”

You’ve gotta admit; New York City does have a lot of swearing cars!

New York is busy, filthy, and fast-paced. It’s exciting and a little overwhelming.

I love the skyscrapers. I love feeling the pulse that seems to drive it. It’s almost as if I can feel the pulse of the nation.

I do not love the city air. I do not love the pollution (moral as well as pollution of the earth). That part saddens me.

There is a lot of walking in this part of the trip. There is no way we are going to try to get the motorhome through New York City, so we are using Public Transportation.

We have 12 people with us for this part (Grandpa too), so that is a lot of people to keep track of!

So we went to on the Stanton Island Ferry. We saw the skyline of New York City, and the Brooklyn Bridge. We saw the Statue of Liberty.

After that, we headed over to Ground Zero. We saw the 9/11 monument. Wow.

We went in the Museum as well.

I could not believe the story of destruction it told. Sure, I knew about it. I knew the story of hijacked planes; of brave, self-sacrificing passengers and crew; of collapsing buildings; of death. I have heard it many times. But I have never lived it or understood it as I did today. The destruction caused by those terrorists was titanic. Colossal.

So many innocent people died that day, so many good, brave people.

This pain was raw, intense. This tragedy is alive in the memories of most people alive today. These people should still be home, with children and grandchildren. Instead, they have left us. This happened while I was alive. Our nation is still sorrowing, as indeed it should be. This is my world’s pain, not the pain of my forefathers.

These are people who should still be alive.

When I came out, mom asked me what I thought about it. I just looked at her, shaking my head in sorrow and disbelief.

She understood and voiced both of our thoughts, “Stunning.

Shocking.

Sobering.”

And indeed it was.