I’m a high school teacher. I keep thinking: “God, I can’t imagine what it must feel like to grow up through this.” The insanity and cravenness of our politics. The drumbeat of daily disaster. The unraveling of social ties.
Tonight I realized: Someone thought that about me.
They must have.
I’m the 9-11 generation.
That was my first week of high school.
The mother of one of my volleyball teammates knew one of the flight attendants who died. I remember thinking how unreal it must feel to be personally connected to a disaster like that.
To know one of the bodies.
That disaster seemed too big, too profound, too far beyond every rule of civil society we thought existed.
Continue reading “The only thing “normal” about the “new normal” is it isn’t new”
Elizabeth DeOrnellas 