Dont Mince Words

I remember walking home with smoke and ash following me.
I remember looking back every few paces to try to understand.
I remember communicating by IM because phone service was spotty.
I remember sitting in my Park Slope, Brooklyn backyard drunk, staring at the ash.
I remember the grounding silence and smiling at the fighter jets.
I remember coughing up black soot and sneezing for days.
I remember hugging people – all of us happy to be alive.
I remember the burning pile smell, which didn’t dissipate until Thanksgiving.
I remember serving food to disgusted pile workers.
I remember going to the fence to cry and pray for the victims.

Today the New York department of health interviewed me for the WTC survivors’ registry. This is a 20-year health study to monitor exposure impact and effects.

You know what they asked me? They asked me if I was white. Not Caucasian, but w-h-i-t-e. One of the other choices was black. Not African-American, but b-l-a-c-k. We’ve been so conditioned to political correctness we forget there are other adjectives to describe the same thing.

Apparently, the empire state has decided to make our ethnic background choices simple. In light of the other questions they asked, it was nice they made this question easy.

Thank you.