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Colouring 9/11?

When I was a child, I liked colouring books as much as the next kid. Or at least, I liked them as much as the next kid who was as artistically challenged as I was. I was never one to stay inside the lines, and have a vague memory of my Kindergarten teacher yelling at me for “scribbling instead of colouring” a picture of a kite.

The pictures featured in my childhood colouring books were pretty much what you would expect. Mickey Mouse. Donald Duck. Puppies chasing giant beach balls. Little kids riding tricycles. There was certainly never anything violent, because who would expose a six-year-old to violence through such an innocent medium? I think the only picture that suggested physical harm was of Bugs Bunny falling off a cliff. But even then, everyone knew that Bugs Bunny wouldn’t actually die, or even be hurt. He would merely create a bunny-shaped hole in the ground, from which he would emerge unharmed and carry on with whatever he had been doing.

I was never given a colouring book that depicted, say, scenes from World War II or the arrest of Nelson Mandela. I never coloured in pictures of tragedy or violence. The same goes for my kids. Their colouring books show scenes from The Backyardigans or Dora The Explorer. Nothing about war, death or disaster. Even if I saw that kind of material on the shelves, I would not get it. I already have enough trouble with the influences of TV and the Internet.

It would seem, though, that not all parents think the same way I do. According to today’s issue of The Metro, ten thousand copies of a 9/11 colouring book have been sold. Across the United States, ten thousand kids are colouring in pictures of the burning towers and the shooting of Osama bin Laden. The publishers of the book, which is at least partially aimed at a demographic that wasn’t even alive at the time of the attacks, defend the book, saying that it simply tells the story of the planning, execution and aftermath of the attacks.

I am all for freedom of information, and I have already learned, after just eight years of parenting, that it is futile to try and shelter kids from the darker side of life.

I have to say, though, that this book concerns me. When the time comes for me to educate my child about 9/11, I do not believe a colouring book will be the means to do it.  Particularly not a book that includes statements designed to encourage our kids to discriminate against others.

“These attacks will change the way America deals with and views Islamic and Muslim people around the world.”

I cannot possibly support a book that sends the message that it is OK to treat any group of people differently based on their race and religion. Yes, I get that the people responsible for 9/11 were bad and evil. I have no argument with that. But a statement like that suggests that our kids should treat the little Muslim kid in their class differently to the way they treat everyone else.

Parents, would you buy this colouring book for your kids? Do you believe it is a valid educational tool, or is it just another avenue for the promotion of stereotypes?

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/wwworks/417511823. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

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What’s On My Bucket List?

One of my friends recently showed me a list of the things he would like to do before he dies.  “See the Eiffel Tower” was one of them.  OK, that sounds reasonable.  I’m more into the Pyramids myself, but the Eiffel Tower is nice enough.

“Learn to Scuba dive”.  “Go skydiving”.  Those are pretty good ones, actually.

“Go for a Bungee jump”.  I did that once, and when people ask me how it was, I always tell them it is something I’m glad I did once, but that I will never do again.  It is a worthy addition to a bucket list.

“Go to the moon”.

OK, my friend lost me there.  The moon?  I can appreciate that the view must be spectacular from up there, but it’s cold and dark and there are no good places for trail runs.  Besides, don’t you make lists in order to be able to cross completed items off?  Isn’t that the whole point of a list?  Not to put a damper on things, but the chances of my friend going to moon are about the same as my chances of fitting into a size 32B bra.

My own bucket list is not as comprehensive as some other people’s.  There are not, say, 100 things that I absolutely have to do before I die.  And my list does not include things that I am never likely to achieve.  I’d like, for instance, to be a contestant on Hell’s Kitchen, just for the pleasure of telling Gordon Ramsay to piss off, but that’s not on my bucket list because what are the odds of it ever happening?

No, my list contains a few things that I really, really want to do, that are achievable, and that I actually intend to do.  Here is a sample of a few of them, in no particular order.

  • Run a marathon.  Someday I will do this.  When my kids are a little older, and I am able to devote more time to training, I will get myself into really good shape and run a full marathon.  I’m not sure which one, but possibly New York.
  • Get into full-time writing.  This is a long-term plan that will require much planning, but it what I want to do.  I have finally realized, at the age of 41, what I actually want to do for a living.
  • Meet in person the friends I only know online, who are real friends nonetheless.  To name a few: Margie, Amy, Kerry, Ray, and quite a number of others.
  • Travel to the very Northern part of Canada to see Aurora Borealis (a.k.a. Northern Lights). This is a beautiful phenomenon that has always intrigued me, and now I live in a country where it can actually be seen.
  • Go on a cruise.  I’ve never, ever done this, and I’ve always wanted to. Someday I will do it.
  • Travel to Colorado to meet the parents of my friend Jason who was in North Tower on 9/11.  I want to tell them what a wonderful son they had, what a good and true friend he was.
  • Finish the fictional novel I started writing, AND get it published.  It’s a good storyline, really.
  • Run the Disney Princess Half-Marathon.  Happens every year, in Disneyland, at the end of February.  And it’s apparently TONS of fun.
  • Weigh the same as I did when I was 30.  OK, so I’m eleven years older now, I’ve had two kids since then, and I had a long period of inactivity that only ended a couple of years ago, but YES, it’s achievable!
  • Stand on top of Table Mountain with my two boys. Someday I will take my kids to South Africa and show them where I came from.  We will go up Table Mountain in the cable car, and we will stand there together feeling like we’re on top of the world.

 

 

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Reflecting on 9/11

Nine years ago, I was working as a consultant for a small company that developed software applications and websites for businesses.  A lot of my time was spent either at client sites around the Greater Toronto Area or traveling to various locations within North America.  My home base was the office serving the eastern half of North America, located in the west end of Toronto.  My workspace was near the windows facing east towards the city centre.  We had a nice view of the Toronto skyline with its distinctive CN Tower, then the tallest free-standing structure in the world.

I happened to be in the office on September 11, 2001.  I was walking from the kitchen to my desk, armed with a cup of fresh coffee, when one of my coworkers handed me a printout from the CNN website.  It showed a picture of the World Trade Centre’s North Tower, with smoke billowing from the top half.  My immediate reaction was that this must be one of those elaborate Internet hoaxes involving Photoshop.  When I realized that this was actually a legitimate photograph, I thought the same thing everyone else did: that a freakish and tragic accident had occurred.

As I scrutinized the printout, I heard a shout coming from the direction of the conference room: someone had been able to get the temperamental TV to work, and we all spilled into the room just in time to see live footage of the plane hitting the South Tower.  An hour later, we were still sitting in the conference room.  We were incapable of speech; someone muted the sound on the TV because the frantic commentary of chaos was violating the silence that we all needed.  I don’t think anyone moved for about ten minutes.  Eventually, someone at the back of the room whispered, “Oh, my God.”  That utterance was a catalyst for everyone to rush to their phones to call family members, pausing on the way past the window to see if the CN Tower was still there.

There was no question of any work getting done that day.  We all spent the day on the phone, contacting loved ones South of the border to find out who was alive and who wasn’t.  My parents called from South Africa, unashamedly relieved to hear my voice.  Toronto is not that far from New York, especially to people watching the chaos unfold from the other side of the world.  After talking to my parents, I went crazy contacting people on Instant Messenger and by phone.  By late afternoon, there were two people in New York who I had not been able to reach.  I went to bed that night not knowing whether they were alive or dead.  I didn’t sleep.  I suspect that most people didn’t that night.

The husband of one of my missing friends emailed me early the following morning.  As soon as the South Tower had been hit, she and all of her coworkers had been evacuated from their office a block away to some hall somewhere.  Phone signals were jammed: for several hours, my friend’s husband did not know whether or not she had been buried in the rubble of collapsing towers.

I never connected with my other missing friend, Jason, who had an office in the North Tower.  At lunchtime on September 12th, I spoke to a mutual friend, Mark, who had commuted to work with Jason the previous morning.  Jason had dropped his dog off at the vet on his way to work, so he was late.  The two friends had gotten off the subway at the same stop, and then they had gone into a Starbucks for their morning coffee.  With coffee in hand, Jason had gone into the North Tower, waving goodbye to Mark, who had to go a few blocks further.  The time was about 8:35 a.m.  Eleven minutes later, the North Tower was hit.  Jason could have left the building in those ten minutes, I said to Mark.  Not likely, was Mark’s reply.  Jason had said something about a 9:00 meeting for which he had not prepared.  He would have been sipping his coffee and working on reports at his desk, which was right in the flight path of American Airlines Flight 11.  I said to Mark, “I hope Jason got to finish his coffee.” People say the oddest things in times of stress.

Now, nine years later, I reflect on that day along with the rest of the world.  I think of Jason and hope he died instantly, with no pain or stress.  I look at my two children, neither of whom was alive on 9/11, and I pray that the world will be a habitable place for them when they are adults.  I watch coverage of bigotry and extremism on TV and wonder what’s wrong with people.  I look at the world around me and wonder if we have really learned anything.

Something that’s a bit odd is that right at this moment, for the first time since learning of Jason’s fate, I am wondering what became of his dog, the one he dropped off at the vet on that terrible morning.