Searching Spirit

“Well, this is it. World War III! It’s started!” I rubbed the sleep from my eyes as Mum’s voice drifted through to my bedroom. What? World War III? Am I dreaming? I walked into the living room where Mum and my siblings were gathered around the television. “What’s everyone doing up? It’s so early-” I yawned. Mum barely registered, transfixed by the TV, her eyes wide and her mouth agape in shock. “What’s going on?” I asked. It was probably the one question on everyone else’s lips at that moment. My brothers were too busy talking to take any notice of me, but from what I could gather, a plane had crashed into one of the towers of the World Trade Centre. My brain couldn’t fathom why a plane would do that. I mean, how could the pilot not see the tower? I was still thinking what a strange, freak accident it was, when another plane flew into the second tower. What? What the hell’s happening? Everything just stood still for me in that moment as my brain struggled to comprehend the enormity of what I was seeing. Like countless Australians, our family woke up to the news that an American Airlines Boeing 767 loaded with 20,000 gallons of jet fuel crashed into the north tower of the World Trade Centre in New York. As the film crews broadcasted the tragic events, another plane appeared out of the sky and turned sharply toward the World Trade Centre, slicing into the second tower. It was at that moment, that the whole world watching realised America was under attack. There were 2,996 lives lost that day, 343 of which were firefighters and 71 police officers who had come to the assistance of the civilians caught up in the atrocity that became known as 9/11. For so many of us, that image is scorched in our memories like a wound inflicted on our mass consciousness. The nature of 24-hour news and the accessibility of the Internet meant that the gruesome images were played over and over on some nightmarish loop. There was no escape. Years later, I would discover how that constant feed of news adds to the trauma of an event, and the best thing you can do is turn off the TV, to protect yourself from re-living the ordeal, time and time again. The bad news did not end there. This time, the news hit much closer to home. In the early hours of September 14, Ansett Airlines, Australia’s oldest and second largest domestic carrier, suddenly ended all flights after it was declared that it had no funds to continue operating. Just like that. Right up until the eleventh hour, Ansett management assured staff and the public that flights would continue, despite the company being placed under administration. Ansett staff only found out when they turned up to work. My proud, hard-working and loyal father was one of those staff. That sort of thing has quite an impact on you as an 18-year-old. When you realise your parents did everything they possibly could to support their family and prepare for their retirement. And yet here they were. Bent over a barrel. My father is your typical Aussie hard-working man. He’d put his hard-earned pay into his superannuation. After all, that’s what you’re meant to do, right? Yup, well that money was gone! After 27 years of loyal service. How do you recover from having the security you have built up your whole life just taken from you? It was more than a set-back. It was gut-wrenching. As you can imagine, this was a devastating time for my family. It totally pulled the rug out from under our lives. My father had always been the bread winner, the rock and dependable one in the family, and now all of sudden he was at a loss as to what to do. It’s heartbreaking to see a strong, loyal man shaken to his core, but when it’s your father you feel it so personally. There were many changes after that. It was a time of turmoil and uncertainty! Seeing what had happened to my dad forced me to rethink my own situation. I began to focus on what I could do in practical terms to take some of the pressure off my parents. I suppose the man in me wanted to help ‘fix things’. It became increasingly obvious that my university education was a financial burden my parents could well do without, so I made the decision to suspend my studies for the foreseeable future. Yes, I still wanted to be a teacher, but I have to be honest, it didn’t feel like a sacrifice to suspend my studies. The whole time I was at uni, my family was questioning my choice of profession, and feeling I should be doing something more in life. I always remember my brothers saying to me, “Think about it, Pete. What are you going to do? Become a principal?” It was their way of saying I should do something bigger and better with my life. I was adamant though. I had so much respect for what teachers did, and I wanted to be one. It was as simple as that. Besides, I have never liked anyone telling me what I should or shouldn’t do, least of all my brothers. All that aside, the reality was I had begun to find study rather monotonous. My ambition was to be a Biology teacher like another great teacher I’d had, Mr McMahon – but once at university, I found there was a hell of a lot of Chemistry and I didn’t like it at all. So, I can’t make out like it was a noble sacrifice. It was a blessing in disguise. But there was one last kick in the teeth for us all. On October 23, 2001 my paternal grandmother, Winifred, passed away. My poor dad must have felt like he’d been hit by a ton of bricks. Winifred was the only grandmother we were in touch with since our family’s falling out with Pat. Winifred was the last matriarch of the family! Her death affected my whole family and it was such a sad time. I suppose it hit me hard too because she was the first person I’d ever known, or been really close to, who had died. She was the first person I loved and lost.