Column: "Our Columbine"
CT Opinions Staff
April 27, 2007
It's a little blue box, probably a moneybox of some sort that I will keep it in.
I've had it for as long as I can remember. Its contents are little reminders, hallmarking symbols of times passed, placed in this blue box like a time capsule so that one day I can revisit the past with a clearer connection. Inside there is a little fingerprint dusting kit indicative of the time when I wanted to be a detective. There is a picture of my dad on a military base in Vietnam holding a snake. There are some dried and pressed flowers from high school prom, the pocket-knife I bought at my great grandfather's funeral auction, and now a little black, maroon and orange ribbon some children distributed in my cafe.
This will not be forgotten. I woke that morning to the sound of fire engines and ambulances racing past my home. However, when the drone of their sirens didn't fade away like usual I crawled out of bed, stumbled to the window and pulled back the curtain expecting to see smoke in the sky.
Instead, a booming voice announced over a loudspeaker on campus for people to seek shelter, that there was an emergency.
With the whipping 60 mph winds tossing the tree limbs around I thought it was a tornado warning until I heard the announcement that the situation was even graver.
Five minutes after I should have left for work someone announced the estimated number of victims.
I went down to one knee and tried to find my breath.
I have never in all my life cried when people were killed like this. Not for the Challenger or Columbia. Not for Columbine. Not for Princess Diana. Not on September 11th. Not even when my grandfather passed.
But, when I learned the gravity of the situation during the first press conference I could not help but to cry.
I called in to work to ask for just a few minutes more, gathered my composure and walked to the shop the back way--just like I promised my grandmother I would over the phone earlier that morning.
Along the way, I passed three trashcans lying in the road rocking on their sides back and forth with the blustery winds in eerie narration of the horror unfolding.
Walking into work, friends looked at me with a small thankfulness in their eyes--a reflection of collective concern. I checked both of my jobs. The bar where I work and a few others were making calls to employees trying to get a head count established.
Now, two weeks later there is still a weight in the air that oppresses and an odd quiescence that makes you look around and see everything in a strange light--like the sky and the trees themselves appear different than the day before.
This is our Columbine. This is our Texas Tower shooter, our President Kennedy, dare I say. This is our September 11, 2001. This is our Oklahoma Federal Building. This is our West Nickel Mines.
As a nation of Hokies we have felt no greater pain than this, there is nothing that compares.
However amid the absolute grief and torment a kind of tragic beauty has risen from the turmoil. Never have I personally been witness to such kindness, such communal spirit and magnanimity as I have seen in the two weeks proceeding April 16.
I watched on television a candle lit vigil led by the University of Miami, home of the Hurricanes, complete with students attired in Virginia Tech clothing and even a "Let's Go Hokies" chant from the crowd. Virginia Commonwealth University, Norfolk State University, Newport University, Cornell, Texas A&M and other colleges across the state and country have held memorial services or candle light vigils. In Seoul, South Korea a vigil was held near the front of the U.S. embassy building and on April 21, a gathering of over 1000 mourners set up an alter in front of Seoul city hall for the victims of that rueful day.
In sports I watched on TV as Jeff Gordon raced to a NASCAR victory while crewmembers wore Virginia Tech hats. Denny Hamlin, another driver, donned one during a post race interview the same night. Additionally all cars will be adorned with Tech logos for the coming weeks. The Washington Nationals Major League Baseball team wore Tech baseball caps during their game against the Atlanta Braves the day after the incident. The Atlantic Coast Conference stated that it will hold a moment of silence before each championship game this spring season and will issue black wristbands to the players in remembrance of the tragedy. My little brother, former offensive lineman for the James Madison University Dukes said on Friday's "maroon and orange day," "I played against those boys at Tech and it hurts me to wear this shirt but I'm wearing it." I even had a friend who said that her father, a former Olympian, was rushed to the emergency room for a medical condition and was admitted wearing a Virginia Tech shirt--in Switzerland.
When I consider all the good I have seen come of this, the mass vigils, message boards and banners, tributes, donations and outreaches--I can't help but feel as if--not only has the enemy failed to defeat us, but, in fact we have been made stronger by some means. I don't quite understand it all yet, I just know that I am a Hokie and never in my life have I been so proud to be one. We are truly a nation of Hokies. And to those students who were here and to those who will graduate and leave this wonderful university I say, you are a chosen generation. You have witnessed and endured the greatest of challenges and stood tall against an enemy of fear and hate. In concert to our need the world has taught us the importance of community, interconnectedness and the power of the collective.
Know that life is no match for this generation of Hokies and graduate with pride and elation. Be happy in your accomplishments and always remember where you came from. Make your memories now: find a box and start a collection with those little hand-made ribbons. Let that first memory signify the benevolence witnessed here that with certainty exists in the world you are about to enter. And let it signify the strength and perseverance of this grand university and the generation of which you are part.