On Wednesday morning, the town in which I live became a national focal point (and a feeding ground for media outlets around the country) when Tarek Mehanna, a resident of Sudbury, Massachusetts, was arrested on charges of plotting to commit acts of terrorism which included killing U.S. soldiers and attacks on shopping malls here in the United States. www.cnn.com, www.metrowestdailynews.com, www.foxnews.com and a whole lotta other dot coms around the world.
And at his arraignment this morning, Mehanna, 27, displayed his defiance (not surprising) when he refused to stand for the judge when the charges were levied against him in the courtroom. Only at the urging of Mehanna's father did this moronic brainless (educated) twit stand, but not after throwing his chair loudly to the side.
Nothing like starting your morning with coffee and a terrorist arrest right in your rich suburban town.
But the prompt of this blog doesn't come from the news story itself but is borne from the fact that this whack was "rejected" from being accepted into "terror camps" and therefore was unable to access the weapons used in terrorist attacks.
Let me just put my tongue in my cheek right about now and ratchet up my twisted sense of humor. While I am completely aware that terrorism is a very real issue, I cannot help but laugh at the absurdity of Mehanna's inability to get into "terror camp."
I have some questions about "terror camp." Is there an application? How much does it cost? I fork out about 1200 dollars each year for my son to go to summer camp where he swims, goes on field trips and basically has a good time sans automatic weapons and bombs and training to fly planes that will ultimately crash into U.S. buildings and kill thousands of people. I think my summer camp expense is well-spent.
What exactly does one do at "terror camp?" Well, let's see. I'm sure the "counselors" teach them how to (a) build bombs and weapons of mass destruction unless they already have them on hand; (b) hold "art classes" in which terror-camp student learn how to identify "infidels" (kind of like knowing the difference between a Van Gogh painting and a box of Twinkies?); (c) practice athletic exercises which probably include strapping on a few hundred pounds of dynamite around their waists and running distances which could be the simulation of running into crowded malls and marketplaces and blowing themselves up and taking many of the patrons of the malls and marketplaces with them. Gives new meaning to the word "blowing yourself to smithereens" although I don't think "smithereens" is in the dictionary of terrorist terms.
Let's see. Oh sure. Students at terror camps probably learn how to perfect their driving & flying skills by practicing flying planes and driving trucks or tanks or cars that will ultimately crash into largely populated areas and buildings in the United States and do that smithereens thing.
Then of course there is probably moments of prayer where these people pray to their respective "gods" (whoever that may be) to bless them and keep them safe until of course they strap on those bombs and kill themselves along with all those other people. Oh yah, and they probably pray that the feds don't find out about their planned activities because it wouldn't be much fun to be in terror camp only to have it raided by those pesty feds you know what I mean?
So here's Mehanna filling out an application and probably answering questions like: How much do you despise the United States? What is your definition of infidel? Do you wake up in the morning and hope that you will kill more than 100 people that same day? How good are you at wiring things together like bombs? Have you ever handled an automatic weapon? Where did you attend college? Are you a member of any leadership groups? Do you play any sports? Questions like that I'm sure.
And of course there may be a one-on-one interview with the director(s) of the terror camp which of course could either seal the fate of a wannabe terrorist into a gonnabe terrorist or, in Mehanna's case - a terrorist camp reject.
Question by terror camp director: "How do you feel about our program?"
Soon-to-be-reject Mehanna: "Well, you have excellent training facilities, and lots of equipment and cool stuff to make bombs with and frankly, I think my attending terrorist camp would enhance my skills to be able to commit many acts of terrorism against the U.S. government and its infidels. Oh, and I play nice with other terrorists, too."
And so on.
I'm sorry but I think this is actually humorous in my own twisted sordid way of viewing this situation. How the freak does one get rejected from terror camp? What exactly excludes someone from terror camp? Are they not sick and twisted enough? Are they not educated enough about the infidels of the country that they want to blow up? Maybe there's a medical problem like, well, glass eye, lazy eye, extra trigger finger which of course could hinder the proper use of an automatic weapon (for aiming purposes), uh, let's see, bum leg (which could hinder escape situations if escape was part of the plan but usually terror camp graduates don't escape after they commit their acts of terrorism).
I wonder if terror camp has a "don't ask, don't tell" policy?
So Mehanna was rejected (loser) and has been arrested (loser reject now criminal) and his application for terror school has been filed into the back of the filing cabinet which probably holds more rejected applications.
I told my son that terrorists come in all colors, shapes, sizes, etc. so that he understands that terrorism presents itself in all races. And that terrorists are young, are old, pray to different gods BUT have one thread in common: a deep rooted hatred for the United States. My son asks me why and I don't have an answer. But he did ask me why everyone can't just get along. I didn't have an answer for that one either.
I wanted to be a baseball player when I grew up. I had friends who wanted to be firemen, police officers, astronauts, etc. Some turned out fine, some turned out to be drug addicts and career criminals and have a permanent place in our prison system. But never in my early young life did I ever have a friend who told me he or she wanted to grow up to be a terrorist.
Are these people born and bred to hate? Where does this hatred come from? And unfortunately, many of these terrorist blur the lines between religion and war and combine the two to form the basis and foundation for their sick and twisted acts of terrorism. I think their gods need to be taken down, too.
But like Mehanna, who hid in plain sight here in my town, terrorism has always existed. Terrorism and its perpetrators are like a deadly virus that keeps mutating - it keeps getting stronger and stronger, hides in places that are just-enough-veiled from view and resists attempts to destroy it.
But every now and then, viruses and plagues like terrorist reject Mehanna get destroyed like he did when he was arrested on Wednesday morning.
Well, thus ends this blog. Oh wait, look. I just saw an ad online for a great job for which I need to go and apply:
"Electric chair switch flipper, no training needed. Part time. Easy pay. Rid the world of terrorists." Call 1-800-USA-LOVE."
I can only hope that Mehanna gets a turn in that chair in the none too distant future.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Ballon Boy Hoax
Last Thursday, my nine-year-old son and I, as well as most of the entire nation, were glued to our collective televisions witnessing what appeared to be an almost certain tragic incident unfolding on national TV: A six-year-old Colorado boy named Falcon Heene had reportedly climbed onto (or into) his father's homemade helium-filled balloon and untethered it from the backyard and balloon and boy lifted off into the sky. Witnesses tracking the balloon's journey stated they had possibly seen something falling out of the balloon. When the balloon landed, the boy was not in the balloon. News stations across the nation were broadcasting this story and websites like http://www.cnn.com/, http://www.cbs.news.com/, were clamoring for up to the second coverage of this riveting story.
My son became visibly upset when it was discovered that Falcon was not in the balloon when it landed somewhere approximately 400 miles from when it first was untethered. Jake said to me, "Mom, did that little boy fall out of the balloon? Is he dead? How come his parents weren't watching him?"
My heart was wrenched looking at the saddened expression on my son's face. And more so, he was waiting for an answer from me. I had none because I too, had those exact same questions and those exact same fears.
And within days, our fears turned to absolute and utter disgust because Richard and Mayumi Heene - the parents of Falcon and two other children - perpetrated what is now confirmed to be a huge hoax, a pathetic publicity stunt by these parents to gain national attention for themselves and their family for a possible reality show. Perhaps what is worse is that the hoax was perpetrated upon unsuspecting parents like myself whose children were traumatized and terrified that a little boy had fallen thousands of feet to the earth to his death all because his parents weren't paying attention to him.
Nice job, Heenes. Thank you for now becoming the most current pathetic, disgusting role models for parents our nation has witnessed.
If you look up the word "losers" in Webster's dictionary, Richard and Mayumi Heene's names and faces should be edited in next to the express definition and pictured on the side of same page.
What is perhaps more shocking is that the children themselves - including Falcon - were in on this hoax. Shhhhhhhh - don't tell anyone what Mommy and Daddy are going to do. Shhhhhh - don't tell the TV news anchors who are going to interview you on national TV that Mommy and Daddy told you to do this. And try not to throw up on national television when you are perpetrating Mommy and Daddy's lies, lies and more lies.
Too late.
Little Falcon did throw up probably from the angst and stress caused by keeping his parents' dirty little hoax/lie/secret. What in the world were the Heenes thinking when they decided to put their scheme into action? At the expense of their children? At the expense of the FAA, the Larimar County (CO) Sheriff's Department, at the expense of the entire nation who watched this story unfold from the balloon's journey across Colorado and possible doomed passenger right up to the continuing saga of how others may have been involved in the Heene's attention-getting pathetic excuse of a prank for a reality TV show?
I have something to say to you Richard and Mayumi Heene: You are horrible parents. You have taught your children not only to lie but to lie in the attempt to gain fame and fortune. This may not be an entirely new or novel concept but you both took it one step further and lied to the entire nation and probably to the world. You lied to me, you lied to my son, and you caused a nation of parents to grab their children and hug them because they were there to be hugged and you caused a nation of parents to wonder why you weren't there when your six year old son allegedly took off in your homemade balloon.
And you had the utter audacity to initially tell the nation that your little stunt WASN'T a hoax, blah blah blah.
Well, you losers, your lie unraveled like a thread pulled on a brand new sweater and how the entire world knows how pathetic you really are, how you used your children to gain national attention and how you are beyond pathetically poor examples of parents.
Have you any idea what you have done? Your children will now be (if not already) the brunt of jokes, torment and teasing amongst their peers. I can hear it now: Fake balloon boy, big faker, and worse of all "Hey Falcon, you're the boy whose Mommy and Daddy lied to everyone."
Nice job, Heenes. What a great example you set for your children.
And now that I know the whole sad, pathetic story was nothing but a hoax perpetrated by thoughtless liars like yourselves, I can now answer my son's question - truthfully.
Do us all a favor - move to another country so we don't have to deal with the likes of you people ever again.
My son became visibly upset when it was discovered that Falcon was not in the balloon when it landed somewhere approximately 400 miles from when it first was untethered. Jake said to me, "Mom, did that little boy fall out of the balloon? Is he dead? How come his parents weren't watching him?"
My heart was wrenched looking at the saddened expression on my son's face. And more so, he was waiting for an answer from me. I had none because I too, had those exact same questions and those exact same fears.
And within days, our fears turned to absolute and utter disgust because Richard and Mayumi Heene - the parents of Falcon and two other children - perpetrated what is now confirmed to be a huge hoax, a pathetic publicity stunt by these parents to gain national attention for themselves and their family for a possible reality show. Perhaps what is worse is that the hoax was perpetrated upon unsuspecting parents like myself whose children were traumatized and terrified that a little boy had fallen thousands of feet to the earth to his death all because his parents weren't paying attention to him.
Nice job, Heenes. Thank you for now becoming the most current pathetic, disgusting role models for parents our nation has witnessed.
If you look up the word "losers" in Webster's dictionary, Richard and Mayumi Heene's names and faces should be edited in next to the express definition and pictured on the side of same page.
What is perhaps more shocking is that the children themselves - including Falcon - were in on this hoax. Shhhhhhhh - don't tell anyone what Mommy and Daddy are going to do. Shhhhhh - don't tell the TV news anchors who are going to interview you on national TV that Mommy and Daddy told you to do this. And try not to throw up on national television when you are perpetrating Mommy and Daddy's lies, lies and more lies.
Too late.
Little Falcon did throw up probably from the angst and stress caused by keeping his parents' dirty little hoax/lie/secret. What in the world were the Heenes thinking when they decided to put their scheme into action? At the expense of their children? At the expense of the FAA, the Larimar County (CO) Sheriff's Department, at the expense of the entire nation who watched this story unfold from the balloon's journey across Colorado and possible doomed passenger right up to the continuing saga of how others may have been involved in the Heene's attention-getting pathetic excuse of a prank for a reality TV show?
I have something to say to you Richard and Mayumi Heene: You are horrible parents. You have taught your children not only to lie but to lie in the attempt to gain fame and fortune. This may not be an entirely new or novel concept but you both took it one step further and lied to the entire nation and probably to the world. You lied to me, you lied to my son, and you caused a nation of parents to grab their children and hug them because they were there to be hugged and you caused a nation of parents to wonder why you weren't there when your six year old son allegedly took off in your homemade balloon.
And you had the utter audacity to initially tell the nation that your little stunt WASN'T a hoax, blah blah blah.
Well, you losers, your lie unraveled like a thread pulled on a brand new sweater and how the entire world knows how pathetic you really are, how you used your children to gain national attention and how you are beyond pathetically poor examples of parents.
Have you any idea what you have done? Your children will now be (if not already) the brunt of jokes, torment and teasing amongst their peers. I can hear it now: Fake balloon boy, big faker, and worse of all "Hey Falcon, you're the boy whose Mommy and Daddy lied to everyone."
Nice job, Heenes. What a great example you set for your children.
And now that I know the whole sad, pathetic story was nothing but a hoax perpetrated by thoughtless liars like yourselves, I can now answer my son's question - truthfully.
Do us all a favor - move to another country so we don't have to deal with the likes of you people ever again.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Justice is NOT served
I read a very disturbing story the other day about a former Alabama judge who was indicted for sexually abusing inmates in exchange for leniency of prison sentences. http://www.foxnews.com/ Herman Thomas was a well-respected judge until allegations of his bizarre sexual proclivities surfaced, allegations that included "spanking and paddling" of inmates in his offices among other things. Charges of kidnapping, sodomy, sex abuse, extortion and ethics violations brought this judge down and he now faces 20 years to life in prison for the most serious charges of kidnapping and sodomy.
Based on what I have learned, I can't help but think how many judges there may be that allow their personal feelings on varying issues (or in this case, sexual deviances) to cloud their judgment on making decisions about cases.
Let's use allegations of alcohol abuse in divorce cases as an example of why I believe judges may look the other way when this type of subject matter is brought up (or not) in court.
In 2007, my son (who was 7 at the time) came home with a nip vodka bottle in his pants pocket, given to him by my ex-husband who is an alcoholic. The bottle contained about a 1/4 inch of vodka in it. (After his colon cancer diagnosis a year ago, my ex-husband claims he no longer drinks). My son told me he never drank anything out of the bottle and I believed him but I pretty much went off the deep end when I found this in my son's pants and told my ex husband in no uncertain terms that I was going to take him to court and ask for a modification of custody. I wanted full custody and I was going to ask for supervised visitation. My ex husband retaliated by stopping his child support to me which put me into a nightmarish abyss of debt from which I have yet to recover. He also stopped his visitation. I filed contempt charges against him, garnished his paycheck and the DOR grabbed his bank account for what he owed me in arrearages.
But when I went in front of the judge for my case - she presides in Middlesex Probate & Family Court - and told my side about the vodka bottle, also told her my ex-husband had a warrant out for his arrest in Pennsylvania for a failure to appear on a drunk driving charge and other numerous occasions when my ex would show up drunk and attempt to take his son and I would not allow him to do so. I then pulled out the vodka bottle, she very nonchalantly turned to my ex-husband and stated, "If you want to have a cocktail or two when you get home from work, it's OK. Just don't drink when you have your son." And then she reminded me that no matter what, I have to adhere to the visitation schedule and that if I didn't allow my son's father to take him based on the visitation schedule, I could be held in contempt.
It was all I could do not to run up to the bench and attack her. I was shaking with fury at her blase attitude toward my little boy's safety.
When I had time to think, I realized that perhaps this particular judge had a drinking problem and hid it well. She, too, probably drives drunk with people in her car but somehow has managed to drive under the radar of police detection. Or perhaps she has been caught and it's been hushed up and smoothed over with something the color of green.
Another Massachusetts judge wasn't so lucky. Christine McEvoy, a judge in Massachusetts Superior Court http://www.tomkileylaw.com/ was pulled over last April for an OUI. She was fined $665, received a driver's license suspension for 225 days and was ordered to attend a drinking and driving education program. And this judge REFUSED to take a breathalyzer test. And in another related story, she stated she would remove herself from drunk driving cases to which she was assigned.
Oh gee, isn't that mighty noble of you.
Two cases of Massachusetts judges - one who ignored my pleas to protect my son - and another who simply ignored the laws governing drunk driving and put people in danger of her stupidity.
Both are still sitting on the bench today. How many more of these above the law judges are sitting on the benches?
Now let me change gears and bring up another situation. A good friend of mine recently went through a fairly bitter divorce. She has a retirement account, and since her separation from her now ex-husband, has been forced for financial purposes to dip into her retirement account to pay monthly living expenses for herself and her son. She is employed but her take home pay is far, far less than what she needs to survive. Her ex-husband moved out and took up residence with his girlfriend, who coincidentally, lives in a home valued at just south of a million dollars and which she owns outright and my friend's ex husband pays no rent whatsoever.
They have a 17-year old who resides with my friend at her home.
At her divorced trial, her ex-husband produced a financial statement which basically showed he did not have a "steady" provable income (he is self-employed) and therefore, the child support awarded to her was based on the flimsy figures he put down on this statement. Her ex-husband apparently was not ordered to contribute to his son's college education, either. Why? No provable income and therefore, the judge couldn't make a calculated guess on how much of a contribution the father should make and therefore allowed the father to get away with not paying anything. Nice guy, huh?
And perhaps the worse slap of all is that the judge ordered my friend to turn over 1/2 of her retirement account to her ex husband, a retirement account to which her ex-husband contributed not one penny over the 20 plus years of marriage.
I get all the "marital assets" laws and blah blah blah. But isn't this where "discretionary judgment" can come into play? Apparently not. Oh, the judge gave her the house that she cannot afford. That makes a whole lot of sense.
There is a lot more to her case than I care to write about because I'd sling some mud that may end up back on me so I am going to refrain from interjecting all of my two cents about this.
But my point is that judges have so much power but yet they choose to ignore facts placed right before their eyes. Are the attorneys to blame for not pushing the envelope close to the judge's faces that they can't ignore the obvious? Or are the attorneys' hands tied so tightly & bound together by the fact that they already know the judges just don't care so they don't even try?
Is our justice system so clogged that a little boy's life is overlooked because a judge think it's OK to have cocktails? Apparently so. Did Judge McEvoy actually think that she was above the law when she got into her car and drove drunk? Apparently so. And did the judge in my friend's divorce case overlook the fact that the financial statement produced by her ex husband was as flimsy as x-rated lingerie? Did the judge even consider for one second that perhaps my friend's ex husband was a con artist, a bullshitter of the highest degree and perhaps take into consideration that he may be hiding assets? Apparently not.
So my friend is now left with a house that she can't afford, a retirement account she has been ordered to "share" with her ex-husband and a son whose college education may be in jeopardy because a judge didn't look more closely at one of the most important documents in the divorce case.
This is why justice is not served. And if it is, it's probably served with a five or six beers, a few cocktails and some bar peanuts. And some cash to keep everyone quiet.
Based on what I have learned, I can't help but think how many judges there may be that allow their personal feelings on varying issues (or in this case, sexual deviances) to cloud their judgment on making decisions about cases.
Let's use allegations of alcohol abuse in divorce cases as an example of why I believe judges may look the other way when this type of subject matter is brought up (or not) in court.
In 2007, my son (who was 7 at the time) came home with a nip vodka bottle in his pants pocket, given to him by my ex-husband who is an alcoholic. The bottle contained about a 1/4 inch of vodka in it. (After his colon cancer diagnosis a year ago, my ex-husband claims he no longer drinks). My son told me he never drank anything out of the bottle and I believed him but I pretty much went off the deep end when I found this in my son's pants and told my ex husband in no uncertain terms that I was going to take him to court and ask for a modification of custody. I wanted full custody and I was going to ask for supervised visitation. My ex husband retaliated by stopping his child support to me which put me into a nightmarish abyss of debt from which I have yet to recover. He also stopped his visitation. I filed contempt charges against him, garnished his paycheck and the DOR grabbed his bank account for what he owed me in arrearages.
But when I went in front of the judge for my case - she presides in Middlesex Probate & Family Court - and told my side about the vodka bottle, also told her my ex-husband had a warrant out for his arrest in Pennsylvania for a failure to appear on a drunk driving charge and other numerous occasions when my ex would show up drunk and attempt to take his son and I would not allow him to do so. I then pulled out the vodka bottle, she very nonchalantly turned to my ex-husband and stated, "If you want to have a cocktail or two when you get home from work, it's OK. Just don't drink when you have your son." And then she reminded me that no matter what, I have to adhere to the visitation schedule and that if I didn't allow my son's father to take him based on the visitation schedule, I could be held in contempt.
It was all I could do not to run up to the bench and attack her. I was shaking with fury at her blase attitude toward my little boy's safety.
When I had time to think, I realized that perhaps this particular judge had a drinking problem and hid it well. She, too, probably drives drunk with people in her car but somehow has managed to drive under the radar of police detection. Or perhaps she has been caught and it's been hushed up and smoothed over with something the color of green.
Another Massachusetts judge wasn't so lucky. Christine McEvoy, a judge in Massachusetts Superior Court http://www.tomkileylaw.com/ was pulled over last April for an OUI. She was fined $665, received a driver's license suspension for 225 days and was ordered to attend a drinking and driving education program. And this judge REFUSED to take a breathalyzer test. And in another related story, she stated she would remove herself from drunk driving cases to which she was assigned.
Oh gee, isn't that mighty noble of you.
Two cases of Massachusetts judges - one who ignored my pleas to protect my son - and another who simply ignored the laws governing drunk driving and put people in danger of her stupidity.
Both are still sitting on the bench today. How many more of these above the law judges are sitting on the benches?
Now let me change gears and bring up another situation. A good friend of mine recently went through a fairly bitter divorce. She has a retirement account, and since her separation from her now ex-husband, has been forced for financial purposes to dip into her retirement account to pay monthly living expenses for herself and her son. She is employed but her take home pay is far, far less than what she needs to survive. Her ex-husband moved out and took up residence with his girlfriend, who coincidentally, lives in a home valued at just south of a million dollars and which she owns outright and my friend's ex husband pays no rent whatsoever.
They have a 17-year old who resides with my friend at her home.
At her divorced trial, her ex-husband produced a financial statement which basically showed he did not have a "steady" provable income (he is self-employed) and therefore, the child support awarded to her was based on the flimsy figures he put down on this statement. Her ex-husband apparently was not ordered to contribute to his son's college education, either. Why? No provable income and therefore, the judge couldn't make a calculated guess on how much of a contribution the father should make and therefore allowed the father to get away with not paying anything. Nice guy, huh?
And perhaps the worse slap of all is that the judge ordered my friend to turn over 1/2 of her retirement account to her ex husband, a retirement account to which her ex-husband contributed not one penny over the 20 plus years of marriage.
I get all the "marital assets" laws and blah blah blah. But isn't this where "discretionary judgment" can come into play? Apparently not. Oh, the judge gave her the house that she cannot afford. That makes a whole lot of sense.
There is a lot more to her case than I care to write about because I'd sling some mud that may end up back on me so I am going to refrain from interjecting all of my two cents about this.
But my point is that judges have so much power but yet they choose to ignore facts placed right before their eyes. Are the attorneys to blame for not pushing the envelope close to the judge's faces that they can't ignore the obvious? Or are the attorneys' hands tied so tightly & bound together by the fact that they already know the judges just don't care so they don't even try?
Is our justice system so clogged that a little boy's life is overlooked because a judge think it's OK to have cocktails? Apparently so. Did Judge McEvoy actually think that she was above the law when she got into her car and drove drunk? Apparently so. And did the judge in my friend's divorce case overlook the fact that the financial statement produced by her ex husband was as flimsy as x-rated lingerie? Did the judge even consider for one second that perhaps my friend's ex husband was a con artist, a bullshitter of the highest degree and perhaps take into consideration that he may be hiding assets? Apparently not.
So my friend is now left with a house that she can't afford, a retirement account she has been ordered to "share" with her ex-husband and a son whose college education may be in jeopardy because a judge didn't look more closely at one of the most important documents in the divorce case.
This is why justice is not served. And if it is, it's probably served with a five or six beers, a few cocktails and some bar peanuts. And some cash to keep everyone quiet.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Fly This Way (Not!)
I have a fear of flying. It is not an ambivalent fear but a real, deep-rooted, twisting vine kind of fear that grips me every time I see a plane or hear one flying too closely above my apartment complex. I remember the last time I was on a plane - there was a mechanical issue and the plane had to make an unscheduled landing. The pilot assured us that we were never in danger. Passengers deboarded, including myself, and were re-routed to other flights. Not me. I rented a car and drove the rest of the way (approx. 483 miles) to my destination. I never got on a plane again.
And this all happened BEFORE 9/11.
9/11 added the final vestiges of fear for what was already rendering me paralyzed from getting within a Texas-sized step of an airplane. I could just imagine me on a plane - I'd be staring at people, wondering if they had a bomb concealed in their shoe, or bombs in their cell phones programmed to detonate by the ringtone "You Dropped a Bomb On Me." I'd be scrutinizing innocent people, looking for the slightest deviation from the norm. Then of course within a heartbeat I'd be trying to catch a glimpse of the pilot, the co-pilot and trying to ascertain if they (a) were drunk/hungover; (b) had any sleep the last few days; (c) were in the middle of an acrimonious divorce, in danger of losing custody of their children and decided to simply crash the plane and end it all (including the 150 plus passengers' lives on that plane, too.). These are the kinds of twisted thoughts that would go through my head and for which verbalizing my fears would probably land me a front-row seat in the nearest insane asylum.
But I am not insane. I am quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. I just don't envision my life ending at 40,000 feet, being blown to bits but some Allah-hugging, bomb carrying whackjob who got up that morning (in the name of Allah), strapped on a homemade bomb to his waist and somehow managed to sneak through security, board the plane, stand up, recite some prayer in his native language and press the detonation button much to the chagrin of all passengers who DIDN'T get up that morning intending to die.
OK, so that's a far-fetched scenario but my point is that I'm just not good about heights, about not being able to see where I am going and having no clue as to the histories and origins of the pilots manning the plane, and those who sit next to me who are farting, wheezing and gasping for breath, spreading god only knows what germs into the already claustrophobic confines of the airplane aisles and snoring so loudly the sound coming from same could conceivably alter the gravitational pull of the Earth.
Then there's Captain Chesley "Sully" Sullenberger, the pilot who safely landed what may as well have been a plane the size of Jupiter - on the Hudson River last year after a flock of dumb-ass geese flew into the plane's engines, rendering them inoperable and forcing Captain Sullenberger to land that plane on the river. Safely. No fatalities (he saved the lives of 155 people), no breaking up of the plane, nothing. He is a hero. And as of this week, he is, for the first time since he became a hero and performed a miracle all in the same day eight months ago, is heading back to the skies. www.nypost.com./p/news/local/sully-brate.
And this all happened BEFORE 9/11.
9/11 added the final vestiges of fear for what was already rendering me paralyzed from getting within a Texas-sized step of an airplane. I could just imagine me on a plane - I'd be staring at people, wondering if they had a bomb concealed in their shoe, or bombs in their cell phones programmed to detonate by the ringtone "You Dropped a Bomb On Me." I'd be scrutinizing innocent people, looking for the slightest deviation from the norm. Then of course within a heartbeat I'd be trying to catch a glimpse of the pilot, the co-pilot and trying to ascertain if they (a) were drunk/hungover; (b) had any sleep the last few days; (c) were in the middle of an acrimonious divorce, in danger of losing custody of their children and decided to simply crash the plane and end it all (including the 150 plus passengers' lives on that plane, too.). These are the kinds of twisted thoughts that would go through my head and for which verbalizing my fears would probably land me a front-row seat in the nearest insane asylum.
But I am not insane. I am quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. I just don't envision my life ending at 40,000 feet, being blown to bits but some Allah-hugging, bomb carrying whackjob who got up that morning (in the name of Allah), strapped on a homemade bomb to his waist and somehow managed to sneak through security, board the plane, stand up, recite some prayer in his native language and press the detonation button much to the chagrin of all passengers who DIDN'T get up that morning intending to die.
OK, so that's a far-fetched scenario but my point is that I'm just not good about heights, about not being able to see where I am going and having no clue as to the histories and origins of the pilots manning the plane, and those who sit next to me who are farting, wheezing and gasping for breath, spreading god only knows what germs into the already claustrophobic confines of the airplane aisles and snoring so loudly the sound coming from same could conceivably alter the gravitational pull of the Earth.
Then there's Captain Chesley "Sully" Sullenberger, the pilot who safely landed what may as well have been a plane the size of Jupiter - on the Hudson River last year after a flock of dumb-ass geese flew into the plane's engines, rendering them inoperable and forcing Captain Sullenberger to land that plane on the river. Safely. No fatalities (he saved the lives of 155 people), no breaking up of the plane, nothing. He is a hero. And as of this week, he is, for the first time since he became a hero and performed a miracle all in the same day eight months ago, is heading back to the skies. www.nypost.com./p/news/local/sully-brate.
Apparently Captain Sullenberger could not wait to get back up in the skies.
Go get 'em Sully. I'll stay on the ground, thank you very much.
My fears are not without merit. Country singer Justin Moore told The Boot http://www.theboot.com/ that he hates, flying too and, not a surprise, wonders the same thing I do about who exactly is flying the plane. Moore was quoted in The Boot as saying, "You're putting your life in the hands of perfect strangers. If I could interview the pilot before and make sure they ain't hungover or something like that, I'd be OK with that."
Well, Justin, YOU may be OK with that but I'm not OK. I would rather take my chances behind the wheel of my car any day and do battle with 18 wheelers whizzing by my Honda Civic at 80 miles an hour and creating a wind shear on the ground. At least I have some measure of control.
And I think that's what my fear is about: control. People who fly lose all control of their lives. And when they land safely, they get it back. I'm just not game about losing control of my life, even for an hour.
Flying is generally viewed as the safest mode of transportation. But the fear that grips me - and many thousands of other people - renders us powerless to find a way to "cure" this fear.
I am all too aware of the fragility of life, the vulnerability of my own life as I experience it in my day to day routine. I am consciously aware that I could get into my car today and get hit by a drunk driver, or someone texting on his or her cell phone and collide head on with me. I am aware that a deer could run out in front of my car, stop dead in its tracks and I'd be a new window display for a music store - can you say accordion? So the question I ask myself when the subject of flying comes up is why would I want to put myself at even greater risk by allowing myself to be whisked up into the atmosphere at a height of about 30,000 feet - Ish - by someone I've never met in my entire life and someone about whom I know nothing. Zilch. Nada.
There are many scenarios I can conjure up to convince me not to fly. (The recent Air France crash which inexplicably blew up or crashed after suffering some sort of weather-related catastrophic disaster) is a perfect example. I followed the news story of that crash with a heavy heart knowing that each had a story, each had a history and none stood a chance. Only a few bodies were recovered and only a few pieces of the airplane were found. A few pieces. A few bodies. I closed my eyes at night and envisioned the scene. I cried myself to sleep knowing there was an 11 year old boy on that plane - a boy only a few years older than my son - who was traveling by himself. His life ended in too short a time, as did all the others on that plane. I lost sleep for a few nights thinking about all those people. I prayed for them and I prayed that I would never have to set foot on a plane for any reason whatsoever.
I can't get over my fear. My mother chides me for my fear - she who is 78 years old and gets on planes without batting an eyelash and journeys to Florida once or twice a year to visit my brother and his family.
She wants to take my son and I to Disney World for a vacation. She wants to go to NASA, where my son intends to work someday. I want to see the Grand Canyon. I want to see the Aurora Borealis in Alaska. I want to see Alaska, period.
But my fear holds me prisoner. It has me duct-taped to the walls of my own invisible prison in which I reside because I cannot fathom getting on a plane ever again.
There are many of us with this fear. Some will conquer their fear, and some, like myself, will never find a way to get over it.
If I can't get there by car, bus, plane or train, or even boats (although iceberg issues are right up there with my fear of flying LOL), I don't go.
The Grand Canyon isn't going anywhere so I figure I'll just rent me an RV someday and take a nice, long leisurely trip across country, stand on the rim overlooking one of the most magnificent sights our country has to offer and spread my arms out to embrace the beauty before me.
With my feet firmly planted right on Grand Canyon ground, thank you very much.
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