For homework on the first day of fifth grade, my teacher wanted me to write an essay. It wasn't your typical what-I-did-this-summer assignment, but something far more personal. She wanted me to share something about myself that I had never told anyone else. This made me uneasy. At not yet ten, I wasn't sure there was anything about me that no one else knew, and even if there was, I was sure it would be something embarrassing. Why would I want to open my soul to someone I had just met, a teacher no less, when I hadn't revealed that part of me to my parents, my brother, or my best friend? I wanted to ignore the assignment and, instead, write about what I had done that summer. Since I had no choice in the matter, I wrote the essay the teacher wanted.  

Now, here it is 33 years later, and once again I've been asked to write another personal essay.  My friend Annika has asked me to write about my feelings on 9/11, one year later. Trouble is, I'm not exactly sure what my feelings on 9/11 are, and I'm fairly certain my feelings are irrelevant. Since this time I do have a choice in the matter, I've decided to write about what I did this summer.  

This summer, I went to my brother's wedding. My parents and sisters were up from Florida, and even my grandmother, 88 years old, stopped in New York for a few days on her way to Greece. Other relatives I hadn't seen in several years were here as well. My new sister-in-law had family here, too, from Egypt. Oh, yes, I forgot to mention that. My brother's new wife is Egyptian. I hesitate to point out that she's Christian because that doesn't matter to me. She's warm and loving, and her being an Arab doesn't need to be excused by the fact that she's not Muslim. Of course, I'm Arab too, on my mother's side, and I hesitate to point out that my mother is more Brooklyn than Syrian, and I'm more Long Island than Syrian or Greek. But nobody looks at me and sees anything other than American, really, so I don't need to make excuses at all. Sometimes in these post-9/11 days I want to tell people, "I'm part Arab," just to get a reaction. I don't, either because I'm not that calculating or not that brave, take your pick.     

This summer, I tried to read the paper more thoroughly to be informed about the world, but it only depressed me. The articles were bad enough, but the letters to the editor were worse. I read one that was responding to a front page article reporting on African boys being forced to fight wars, and African girls being forced to come along to keep the soldiers sexually satisfied. The letter said, in effect, that we have our own tragedy, and that this far-away tragedy should not have taken the front page.  Other letters said we should not let the world forget our loss.  Can we expect the world to remember our horror if at the same time we don't want to hear about theirs?

This summer, I went with my wife and children to the Jersey shore, as we do every year. When we cross the Verrazano Narrows, the kids look for the Statue of Liberty, which can be seen from the bridge. The older ones look just to help the younger ones find it, and the younger ones look because of that odd excitement kids get from spotting a landmark. They used to look for the Twin Towers, in years past, but with much less excitement because of the relative ease in finding them.     

This summer, I hired a Mexican immigrant, quite possibly illegal, to help me with yard work. I paid him $100 plus lunch, fruit, soda and water for the day, and I worked right beside him. I like hiring these aliens when I have work to be done. It gives me a chance to brush up on my Spanish. I've been learning Spanish for 30 years now, and can barely put together a full sentence. But with my limited Spanish and his limited English, I was able to learn that he was 22, his wife was 19, and they had one child, a one year old daughter. There is no work for him at home, so he comes here for six months a year. I imagined his pain at leaving his wife and child to build a better life for them, and I wondered if I would be strong enough to live like him. When I drove him home at the end of the day, it was to a house much smaller than my own, one that he shared with nine others like him.  

This summer, my wife and I took our oldest son to visit colleges. He's a senior in high school this year, which means he's already received more education than what, ¾ of the world? But in this global economy, I keep hearing, he needs to be better educated to compete. What we'll spend on four years of college is a downpayment on a house. Nothing extravagant, with real estate inflating the way it is, but a nice house. I recently read a letter in a financial advice column about a man who spent $75,000, everything he owned, on a wedding, and his wife left him within six months. Compared to that, the college education is well worth what we'll spend. 

This summer, I ate more than I needed to while 24,000 people died each day of hunger. I'm not proud of that. In the weeks after 9/11 last year, I joined everyone I know in providing food, clothes, bottled water, gloves and more for the rescue effort after the attack on the World Trade Center. Three thousand people died in that attack; 8 times that many die of hunger each day, and I continue to eat more than I need. I can tell myself that my not overeating won't feed any of the starving, but that's only partly true. The money I spend on overeating, or worse, on the food I waste, would feed many.     

This summer, I cursed my investments in mutual funds, but took comfort in the fact that my house had appreciated in value. I wished that I was better off financially than I am, yet considered myself lucky to have more than much of the rest of the world.   

This summer, I went to work, watched TV, rode my bike, read some books, drank beer with friends, loved my wife, hugged my kids, went out to dinner, watched a few movies.  I swam in my pool, went for walks, overreacted when my kids did something "wrong," under reacted when my kids did something "right," bought a used car from my friend's sister.  I drove kids to movies, the mall, Borders, track practice, friends' houses, camp, work, home. I told a pregnant woman with two adorable kids that she looked terrific, not just because it was true, but because I'm getting old enough to do so without giving anyone the wrong impression. And also because it was true.

This summer, not because of 9/11, not in spite of it, I lived life as I always do, the only way I know how. Next summer, I hope to do the same.

Author's Biography

William Joseph lives in Saint James, NY with his wife and sons, where he does "something with numbers" from nine to five. 

He's an average, middle-aged man doing average, middle-aged things, and remains unknown to all but his family and friends. In his fantasy life, though, William is a well-known writer and changer-of-the-world.

E-mail William at WilliamJoseph117@aol.com

Read or write reviews on this essay!

We are still working on the "read reviews" section. We need your input!

Read or write reviews on this site!

We'd like to know from our readers if they enjoyed this issue of Seven Seas! Do you have praises or complaints? Suggestions or ideas? Would you like to read other people's reviews? Please check out our Site Reviews Page

Get notified!

Would you like to get notified as soon as new Seven Seas issues are published on the Web?
Get notified!

Tell a friend!

Do you enjoy the Seven Seas site? 
Please tell a friend to stop by!
Tell a friend!

Go back to the table of contents
 of the current issue.

You just read essay # 10.  Read essay #

1    2    3   4   5   6   7   8   9   10