Another 9/11
by
Michael A. Brown
My father was a consultant for a large pharmaceutical company, so he traveled internationally quite a bit
for his work. Upon his return, Dad would bring back coins or relics from faraway places that I could only
envision from the stories he shared over the model globe in my bedroom. He always kept in shape,
jogging at home and on the road.
While on a morning run through Madrid’s República Argentina Square, the shrapnel from a terrorist’s
bomb hit him directly. He was one of 17 people injured, and was rushed to a nearby hospital after losing a
lot of blood. I remember hearing the news on the day that Mom left for Spain -- “An international
consultant…is in critical condition after a bomb planted by Basque terrorists went off yesterday. It was
intended to scare the Spanish government.” Two days later, a family friend came to the door to deliver
the news. Dad had died. It was the worst day of my life.
The date was September 11, 1985.
No one could really understand what I felt. As a nine-year old boy, I thought that 9-1-1 was the number
you call during crisis emergencies. I always felt uncomfortable if I saw the clock at 9:11 in the morning or
9:11 at night. I thought it was really strange that the 911 Porsche was one of Dad’s favorite sports cars.
Nine-eleven was the day that my beliefs of immortality, security, and normalcy were shattered. I felt very
alone.
Over the next 20 years, I was constantly reminded that I was fatherless. It started immediately when my
grandpa helped tie my first necktie for me for Dad’s funeral. I thought I should have learned how to do this
from Dad, not Grandpa. Every necktie I have tied since, I have missed him. I never got his “birds and the
bees” speech. He wasn’t at my bar mitzvah, my first driving lesson, my graduation from high school and
college, my wedding or the birth of my daughter this year. He should have been here.
There were also numerous reminders of my Dad’s death in the media. I lived three blocks from the White
House when Pennsylvania Avenue was closed indefinitely after a bomb killed 168 people on an
Oklahoma City morning in 1995. I stood in Centennial Park at the 1996 Olympic Games only 45 minutes
before a bomb nearly tore apart the Olympic community. And I wrote an article in the college newspaper
in 1997 to express my fear of the candid use of the word “bomb” in American society. But no one
understood my fears and my emotions.
On September 11, 2001, I realized that my situation was no longer unique. And because of this, I want
those who have been affected by terrorism to know that while time will never fully heal the wound, there
will be many joyous occasions in life that follow. About a year or so after my Dad’s death, my Mom told
me that I was not the man of the house. I needed to establish my own life, rather than assuming the role
of Dad’s. Proudly, I have done just that. My life’s milestones have been so rewarding because I know that
I have attained personal goals with the support of my family and friends, as well as through an inner spirit
and resiliency that gets stronger with each passing year.
While my father’s death was a sudden surprise and shock, my achievements have come from hard work
and self-discipline. Different moments in life have triggered my emotions on many different levels. After
all, symbols of lost loved ones are everywhere -- in our personal lives and in world events -- and will
always remind us of the void in our lives. But there are many choices ahead that enable us to emerge as
stronger individuals, if we choose to.
Michael A. Brown is a 28-year-old graduate student at Rutgers University in Newark, studying for his
Master's Degree in Public Administration. He lost his father on September 11, 1985, from a Basque ETA
car bomb in Madrid, Spain. Michael recently chose to pursue a new career in the public sector after
working for over five years as an officer with MBNA America Bank. Michael lives in Hoboken,
New Jersey, with his wife Samantha and his daughter Kennedy.