By the twitching of my thumbs.... The sky was a vivid purplish colour late last night. I didn't hear of any reports of geomagnetic storms in the area.... but maybe I should have been the one reporting...It has been a bizarre sort of 24 hours. I'm not sure how many outward manifestations of bizarre have actually cropped up... other than the fuscia sky last night... The most noticeable strangeness has more to do with my mood. Emotionally, I feel as if I have been drifting in and out of a Salvador Dali painting. Other than that -- I just can't put my finger on it. All I know is I woke up with an overwhelming desire to write to the President of the United States...
Dear Mr. President:
I read in our local newspaper today - an account of your visit to a couple's house in Gautier, Mississippi. They are rebuilding their home after it was destroyed during Hurricane Katrina. You helped them hang a light fixture and an American Flag.
The article made me cry. You see -- I don't cry much. I never have been known to cry much... and I certainly haven't done so since the storm. Probably not as much as I should, either. So this could very well be a good thing for me. But reading about the Akins experience and imagining just how excited they were... Thinking about how motivated they will be now to do everything humanly possible to complete their home. They will work even harder every day to ensure that the work is done on time. I hope Mr. Akins gets that plaque he is hoping for.
I was thinking about the people lining the roads waving little American flags and standing on their cars trying to get a good look. And I realized this is what we needed -- six months ago. This was all we needed -- as a people. We needed a handshake.. a hug.. A nod to our existence. I daydreamed on some of those sweltering filthy afternoons... about the Guard helicopters swooping in over our city and people standing out amid the rubble to hold up their flags and shout "God Bless America... We're going to make it!!" It wasn't so much about the lack of food drops or medical teams as it was about a lack of support and solidarity.
I wish you would come visit us too, Mr. President. I could show you all the work we've done. I could show you the pictures I took of the tidal surge.. and we could tell you how we felt that morning when we all thought we were going to die. We could tell you about our plans to finish the rest of the work.. and I could introduce you to my son, George, who is so proud to share your name that he forgave you for never answering the letter he wrote to you congratulating you on your election.
My husband says that you will never come visit us though -- mostly because of some comment I made a while back about kicking you in the teeth. He says the Secret Service doesn't like that sort of thing. I guess I can understand that. My mother didn't like it either - she said it wasn't very lady-like.
I was angry, Mr. President. Angry and hurt. It was a matter of survival.
In the beginning we were so sure that we were not alone. We had faith in our great country - we would never be abandoned by our own. A great crushing wave of depression came with every day we were forgotten. It would have broken us too... if not for the anger that filled the void. We began our recovery like a rebellious teenager... out of sheer defiance.
How I wish, Mr. President, that it had been a matter of old-fashioned American pride.
Since those days -- that is what it has become. We are so proud of our fellow Americans who have rushed to be by our sides. The outpouring of love and concern and friendship from all corners of our country calmed the fear and anger in me. I have learned to put my faith in our country where it belongs -- with the people of the United States.
I hope that you plan to continue your trips to our devastated coast as we struggle to make things new. I pray that you will visit all of the small and forgotten communities as well -- and bring some hope with you. Yesterday, our kids bought some little American flags at the hardware store -- so we will be ready should your motorcade pass this way. In the meantime, we will busy ourselves with the American Dream... board by board and brick by brick.. and make our fellow Americans - and perhaps our President - proud.
God Bless America.
Dear Mr. President:
I read in our local newspaper today - an account of your visit to a couple's house in Gautier, Mississippi. They are rebuilding their home after it was destroyed during Hurricane Katrina. You helped them hang a light fixture and an American Flag.
The article made me cry. You see -- I don't cry much. I never have been known to cry much... and I certainly haven't done so since the storm. Probably not as much as I should, either. So this could very well be a good thing for me. But reading about the Akins experience and imagining just how excited they were... Thinking about how motivated they will be now to do everything humanly possible to complete their home. They will work even harder every day to ensure that the work is done on time. I hope Mr. Akins gets that plaque he is hoping for.
I was thinking about the people lining the roads waving little American flags and standing on their cars trying to get a good look. And I realized this is what we needed -- six months ago. This was all we needed -- as a people. We needed a handshake.. a hug.. A nod to our existence. I daydreamed on some of those sweltering filthy afternoons... about the Guard helicopters swooping in over our city and people standing out amid the rubble to hold up their flags and shout "God Bless America... We're going to make it!!" It wasn't so much about the lack of food drops or medical teams as it was about a lack of support and solidarity.
I wish you would come visit us too, Mr. President. I could show you all the work we've done. I could show you the pictures I took of the tidal surge.. and we could tell you how we felt that morning when we all thought we were going to die. We could tell you about our plans to finish the rest of the work.. and I could introduce you to my son, George, who is so proud to share your name that he forgave you for never answering the letter he wrote to you congratulating you on your election.
My husband says that you will never come visit us though -- mostly because of some comment I made a while back about kicking you in the teeth. He says the Secret Service doesn't like that sort of thing. I guess I can understand that. My mother didn't like it either - she said it wasn't very lady-like.
I was angry, Mr. President. Angry and hurt. It was a matter of survival.
In the beginning we were so sure that we were not alone. We had faith in our great country - we would never be abandoned by our own. A great crushing wave of depression came with every day we were forgotten. It would have broken us too... if not for the anger that filled the void. We began our recovery like a rebellious teenager... out of sheer defiance.
How I wish, Mr. President, that it had been a matter of old-fashioned American pride.
Since those days -- that is what it has become. We are so proud of our fellow Americans who have rushed to be by our sides. The outpouring of love and concern and friendship from all corners of our country calmed the fear and anger in me. I have learned to put my faith in our country where it belongs -- with the people of the United States.
I hope that you plan to continue your trips to our devastated coast as we struggle to make things new. I pray that you will visit all of the small and forgotten communities as well -- and bring some hope with you. Yesterday, our kids bought some little American flags at the hardware store -- so we will be ready should your motorcade pass this way. In the meantime, we will busy ourselves with the American Dream... board by board and brick by brick.. and make our fellow Americans - and perhaps our President - proud.
God Bless America.
3 comments:
Oh Anita ..... I know that I am proud to be your mother. When you do express yourself everyone should listen, even President Bush. He is only one man that I am sure is spread very "thin" but just the simple showing that the "small" communities have not been forgotten would help tremendously. We have to be "egged" on to the finish line and know that we are going to be okay. Give us hope and we can accomplish anything. Without hope we will perish.
Oh Anita, how similar we are and yet how different. You are always so eloquent, and now so gracious.
I couldn't be this way, I really don't think I could. I still would want to kick him in the teeth. I do appreciate the fact that he is there to show all of you have not been forgotten, but I still don't believe it is enough, or that anything close to enough has been done by your governemnt.
But you see, I think I have a very limited vision when it comes to the storm, because most days, all I see is you, your family, your friends and any others who were devastated by the storm. I sometimes remember those that are helping you, but most days I just feel a bit helpless, and for some reason, I blame this on your government.
I do not understand why programs giving defined instructions on what to do were not set up in the early days, I do not understand why more help rebuilding your economy is not happening, I do not understand why there seems to be so much bureaucratic red tape when it comes to helping all of you, I do not understand why more emphasis is being put on backtracking to cover Fema's response in crisis rather than solving problems is being undertaken, I do not understand why anyone would donate used underwear in such a situation, and I most certainly do not understand a President coming to see your area so long after the fact and not apologizing for it.
However, I do see that so many people around the world care for all of you, and there are lots of volunteers who are there or want to be there, but again I don't see why they are not being given any guidance to help organize.
I guess I am still angry, even though it didn't happen to me. Perhaps this is why I write about talking cats, and you write so graciously and heartbreakingly of your life.
You truly are an inspiration.
Love,
Swapna
You write very well Anita and I know of your undersentiment.
I am proud of you, and always will be. (hugs) and (love)
Luba
Post a Comment