What is Right?
September 14, 2001
6:53 a.m.
"Brigid wants to know if there's anything she can do to help," Lisa said to me last night. As we have been for the past three days, we were sitting in our living room. Brigid, our twelve-year-old daughter, was beside Lisa. I was on the second couch. The television played. This question strikes to the root of my problem. I feel so powerless. I feel like there is nothing I can really do. I didn't tell Brigid that, though. Instead I said: "We can donate money. Or we can donate other things--clothes or whatever. Cummins is having a blood drive soon, and I signed up to give blood." "I think there's a weight requirement for giving blood," Lisa said. We talk about that, and she decides she's going to call tomorrow to find out if she's right. She went on to list things that she knows people are giving. Brigid doesn't have much of these kinds of things. She doesn't have surgical masks or men's socks or food. "Would you like to donate some money?" I said to Brigid. "You mean some of my own?" she said. I couldn't tell what she was thinking. "Sure." "How much would I give?" "I don't know. Whatever you felt like giving." She was quiet, like she was thinking. You could see that deer in the headlight anxiety on her face. Brigid gets a $6 a week allowance. Of that, she must put 50%, or $3 into her savings account. She scrimps and saves that other $3 to buy Nintendo games and magazines and whatever else she wants. I can see her thinking about this, and I don't want her to be embarrassed about whatever small number will come out of her mouth. I almost told her that I would match whatever she wants to give so that she'll have a number she can be more proud of. But I didn't say anything, and Brigid didn't tell us what she was thinking. We went back to watching the television. The stories are coming out now. Hundreds and hundreds of gut-wrenching stories. Rescue workers, and families, and friends, and the efforts that are going on in real-time while the rest of the nation and the world watches. The networks are letting people come on and talk about their lost relatives. They carry pictures, with names and dates and floors. They give every scrap of information that they know. These people are exhausted, I think at one point. It's almost cruel to watch them--almost cruel for the networks to allow them on. After each one finishes, I think I've had about as much as I can take. But then I can't turn away. After awhile I began to realize that this is part of everything. I'm watching this not because I am voyeuristically inclined but because this is a way I can be there for them. The rescue workers are incredible. There is really nothing more I can say. They write their names and social security numbers on their arms and legs so someone can tell who they are if they get caught in another crumbling mound of falling building. How hard is that, eh? Today when you go into work, look at your bare forearms and think about that.   Yesterday, I came to the stunning conclusion that all we can really do, is to do what is right. I know this is not the most profound statement I've ever made, but it was the best I could do then. Since that time, I've been thinking. Just what is "Right" in this case? As a nation, this is what I think. I think we should find out who did this. We should be certain of who did it. We should make certain we identify the full scope of the problem (i.e. as close to everyone involved as possible). Then we should take a deep breath and develop a plan that removes this threat forever. And we should execute it. Yes, I know there will be more terrorists that will rise from these ashes, but this is what I think. As individuals, I think we should strive to be Americans in the purest sense of the word. We should be like the rescue workers. America is dotted with a history of intolerance and fear. Japanese internment camps and Ku Klux Klan rallies and Indian suffering and all that. We know these things. But I note that I haven't heard a rescue worker say, "I'm looking for everyone but Muslim Americans." We should be like our leaders--Democratic and Republican senators and congressmen who have deep philosophical differences, but have dropped them to be together at this moment. This is a moment in time that defines who we are. Muslim Americans are our countrymen. We should treat them as such. But mostly, I think we should find ways to give. It was later. Lisa was upstairs. Brigid and I were in the kitchen. I had taken the garbage out to the garage, and was washing my hands. The television played in the background, but I wasn't paying any real attention. "A hundred dollars wouldn't be much help to New York, would it?" Brigid said. I looked up at my daughter and realized that she was talking about giving the people of New York $100. This represents almost a year's worth of saving for her. I didn't say anything. I just clutched my damp dishtowel in my hands and went over and gave her the biggest hug. "It's not much," Brigid said. "No, Brigid. It's a beautiful gift." Lisa came in and I told her what Brigid wanted to do, and she joined us in this moment. Yesterday I felt we needed to do what was right, but I was lost and couldn't begin to say what "right" was. Today my daughter showed it to me. I think there are some 290 million people in the United States of America. That means that if everyone were to be like my daughter and give $100, we would raise $29 billion dollars. Later I told her I was proud of her. "Well, I wanted to give as much as I could and still have a little left for me," she said. "Besides I don't have to go to college for six more years." My mind boggles at this girl as she grows up. When we went to bed, Lisa looked at me and said. "She's some girl. She's got a big heart." I agreed. My daughter has a $29 billion dollar heart. That's pretty damned big. So here is what I want you to do. I want you to do something. Anything. I want you to think about men going to work with their names written on their arms. I want you to think about people in the streets looking for their family. I want you to think about the congress and the senate and the president. But mostly I want you to think about Brigid. She's one little person. Twelve years old. If she can give $100, then you probably can, too. If you can't afford it, then try $50. Or try $25. There a bunch of organizations trying to help. If you can't afford money, give something else. Blood. Everyone has blood. If you can't, for some reason, do that, then give an extra prayer or light an extra candle or whatever you can think of to do that might give families solace. If you've already done something, do something more. When you're done, I would like to ask you another favor. Come back here and send Brigid an e-mail. Tell her what you did. Tell her that her example moved you to do it. Let her see what kind of difference a pure heart can make. I should let you know that this e-mail account comes directly to me. But I promise to you that I'll share anything age-appropriate that comes in. Thank you so much.  Daily Persistence is © Ron Collins |
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