Inspiration, by way of Brooklyn

Upon our arrival in NYC last night, we checked in to our hotel in downtown Manhattan, only to realize that we were right next to the WTC site. We quickly unpacked, washed up, and headed out to explore the city.

It didn't surprise me that as we passed the WTC construction site the events of 9/11 came rushing back into my mind. It's a day no American will ever forget; a day that is still remembered on a daily basis, not only by New Yorkers, but by all that pay tribute to the fallen heroes and those who survived. As we headed toward Wall Street, we noticed a touching bronze memorial intricately created onto the side of the local firehouse. I couldn't get it out of my mind that those men must have been the first to reach the site that fateful day. Many people, natives and foreigners, were there. They were praying. They were paying tribute. They were leaving gifts, flowers, for those who made the ultimate sacrifice: life.

At first, upon close inspection of the memorial, which is artistically divided into three sections, it bothered me that the middle section depicted the burning towers. This was, perhaps, due to the fact that on September 11, 2001, I was still so foolishly naive to think that such an atrocity could ever occur on American soil. To say the least, I was deeply affected the day those towers came down; in a way, it was the first loss of my childhood innocence--my first brush with adult bitterness and inexplicable heartache.

Initially we had headed out for the Brooklyn Bridge, and though that was still our primary destination, I felt as though I was weighted down. As we crossed through City Park and passed Pace University, I caught my first glimpse of the old bridge. A marvel in its time, it gave me a sense of hope, reinstilled my pride and faith in our great nation (it's no wonder I want my Ph.D. in American Studies). Seeing the American flag flying high above the two architecturally articulate support beams made me feel better. I thought about all the immigrants who walked across this very bridge I was crossing; how this bridge not only represented their freedom, but how it represented the creativity and ingenious of the American mindset.


We arrived in Brooklyn just as the sun was setting, and we realized that we were somewhat ravenous. We headed down to Grimaldi's, waited in what I consider a short line (all the way down the block) for an hour, and then feasted on the most perfect pizza. The meal was quick, but thoroughly appreciated. The old man, overly tan and perfectly Italian, who was in charge of seating parties asked us if we enjoyed ourselves, and I was quick to admit that we did not have pizza like this where we're from. He was kind enough not to give us too much heat for quietly admitting we're from Boston.

By the time we left it was dark. The walk back over the bridge was just amazing. The moon was full, the city lights bright. The weight I had felt earlier in the evening had lifted. This is a city full of life; a city with pride; a city that will never forget, but that will never fall. I am New York.