Dangers of Cruise Control (soph journal)

I'm driving 65 mph on I-495, cars whizzing by me like I'm standing still. Two guys darting in and out of traffic like it's some video game chase--I can only imagine how fast they're going. I'm on the gas just to keep up with the flow, the left foot covering the pedal,just in case . . ., momentarily reverting to what Mr. Shaw instructed back in tenth grade in high school.

Then comes the inevitable question from the backseat driver, who actually occupies the other seat in the front.

"Are you using cruise control?"

"No," I answer curtly.

"Why not? Doesn't your foot get tired?" the passenger harps.

I then begin my rant on the dangers of cruise control.

Clicking on the cruise control does prevent tired, cramping feet. However, it has its problems. For one, it lulls you into a false sense of security, and the feet usually get further and further away for both the gas AND the brake pedals. At that point, how much control do I really have?

If you haven't guessed, my common automobile anecdote can easily relate to the story you just read and studied, "Why Don't You Look Where You're Going?" Like my car, my life isn't often in cruise control. I hope I'm the one in charge as much as I can be (and without being a "control freak"). I realize I'm driving on a path that's been travelled on before, but as long as I'm the one making the decisions, I'll take that route, common as it might be.

How are you navigating throught life? Are you riding on the ocean liner of Society,the "sainted leviathan," lazily wiling away your hours, looking to the "young men with the fine, blonde, hair" for information and direction?

Tell me, in some elaborate, extended metaphor (conceit), what your life is like. I'd prefer that you share your ideas and creativity here in Schoolsville. But if you want remain anonymous, that's OK, too. You can reveal your secret identity later. Hey, maybe your life is like some Superhero's?

Of course, sophs, you don't have to write about your life. Make any far-fetched, comparison (conceit) like the ones I read in class: going to a family reunion is like channel surfing cable television; love is like white water rafting; my father is a toaster.

Five Years Later

Just as your parents and I can remember where they were when they heard of Kennedys' assasination. . . . Just as your grandparents can remember the Pearl Harbor attack. . . . Now you have a day burned just as deeply into your memory.

You tenth graders were nervous fifth graders. You college frosh were cool eighth graders. It was a beautiful day around here, much like today, September 12. Clear sky. Nice breeze. Then . . . .

The world changed that day, at least our worlds changed. We were forced to open our eyes to a region of the world where, sure, there was fighting all of the time, but at least we weren't a part of it. Turns out that someone thought we were a part of it, so much that they attacked us, and our peaceful, safe, way of life, and changed the way we lived forever.

I remember the days after 9-11 living in, if not, fear, then at least apprehension. Would there be more terror attacks? If so, of what type? Could we really protect ourselves with enough duct tape and plastic to withstand a "dirty" nuclear bomb? Did we really want to get on an airplane again? Or travel to New York? Or go to any event where large groups of people congregated?

I know that my reaction to that tragedy influenced everything that I did for the following months. My eyes were glued to the television set for news, for assurance, for hope, that things were not as bad as they seemed. For the most part, as each day passed without additional tragedy, I felt a gradual sense of relief, calm, and safety living in America again.

Having seen the images in New York, having heard the many stories of bravery, I developed a keener sense of respect and admiration for firefighters, policemen, and emergency workers of all types. My brother-in-law is a Wilmington policeman, a kind man, a gentle loving father of three boys. When he's in uniform with his police radio and weapon, he's something altogether different, though. He's a defender of my city, a protector of the innocent, in pursuit of "bad guys" who would drive drunk, burglarize a home, or worse yet, commit acts of terror in our country. He and many others like him do this so that you can write responses to questions in your journal, so that I can correct errrors in dangling participles and wrong tenses,and so that we can try to return to the nicer, safer, more peaceful way of the world that we knew before September 11, 2001.

Five years later we do not forget the heroes that fell then. Hopefully, we continue to recognize the heroes that rise and work to protect us now.