In 2001, while a high school junior, I was invited to attend the National Youth Leadership Council (NYLC) fall summit in Washington, D.C. The invitation had been sent out in late summer, just as school was beginning. Shortly thereafter, while sitting in second period AP History, I heard a transmission from our headmaster I will never forget.
“The Twin Towers in New York have been struck, and the authorities are still trying to determine the source of this attack on our nation.”
We students were petrified. That Friday’s football games were postponed, and many of us questioned if we would be called up to join the military in the days following 9/11. My mother was away on business that week in Chicago, unable to return thanks to the stoppage of air travel around the world.
As Americans picked up the pieces and tried to put on their war faces, people were gripped by fear and awakened to the true fragility of life. I had a palpable fear of death I had never known before, and that fear led me across the street to my neighbor shortly after my seventeenth birthday, who happened to be a pastor, who introduced me to the Christian faith I hold today.
As I reflect on what would have been my father’s 79th birthday today, I am reminded of some of his timeless wisdom, which was passed on to me in the weeks following the 9/11 tragedy. I had been afraid to travel to the NYLC Conference because I was fearful of airports and planes, and the potential of meeting an untimely ending at the hands of terrorists en route to the much-anticipated gathering of future leaders. I had quietly been looking at excuses to turn down my invite to the conference.
Once Dad figured this out and questioned me about it, I came clean. I was looking for backup, for his understanding and endorsement of my plan to back out of my invitation to something that was an honor to have been invited to. I did not receive it.
Instead, what I got was what you might expect of a three-time Vietnam veteran, an Infantry officer who held a Master of Profane Arts from the United States Army:
Son, I didn’t serve three f***ing tours in Vietnam for my son to be afraid of a bunch of Stone Age, camel herding savages.
And that was that. Who do you think got over it quick, and jumped on that plane a few weeks later without hesitation? You bet – this guy.
Life lived in fear is not a life lived at all. It is certainly not a life that can restore what has been lost in this country over many decades. Face those fears head on and come to peace with your past, and you’ll be able to equip yourself with the proper armor and stare down those who seek to enslave you and strip you of your dignity.
Thanks, Dad, for this excellent life lesson. Rest well.
Thanks for sharing. Your Dad definitely was a Master Communicator!
Thank you Seth for your honest stories that tugs at the heart in our times of our own trials and worries. I’ve been reminded recently to place my worries into God’s basket. Thank you!