If Something Should Ever Happen...

I just got back from Japan... and came home to chaos. Chaos that I knew was coming. Maybe I'll post more on Japan later. I got so busy trying to see so much in such little time, that I didn't have time to write about it.

I went to Japan because I felt the US plummeting. I needed to see the temples that gave birth to the Buddhist temples here. My temple.

I went to Hiroshima, to pay my respects and to learn. I have literally hundreds of pictures from Japan, but for this post, I'm going to only share a couple, because it's what's on my mind.

This photo:

With this explanation:

On September 11th, of 2001, I drove my dad to work in his jeep because my vehicle was in the shop. We listened to KGB on the radio, and heard the reports of the attacks. I asked my dad if it was for real. "Shh... let me hear this".

Campus let us out early that morning. America was under attack. It was a scary time. People left notes in New York trying to find each other... for days, weeks.

My dad and I discussed what we would do if something ever happened and we were separated. Phones wouldn't work and we'd have no way of getting in touch, no way of letting each other know we were alive.

We made a pact to meet at Bud Kearns, where I swam. Or to leave a note on the building.

As I stared at the photo of the Japanese writing in Hiroshima, I immediately thought of my dad and our promise to each other. To find each other.

I watch our country crumble now and think about what my dad would say.

When I was young... less than 10 years old I would guess, we sat in line at the Mexican border and I saw a couple guys scaling the border fence. Having only heard my mother's take on the issue, I said "Dad, do you see that?"

"They're just trying to make a better life for themselves, Carrie".

I am so thankful for the influence my dad had on me. How he chased out some of the ugliness my mother taught me. How he softened my heart a little. My dad, the science lover, the feminist (a topic for another post, maybe tomorrow), the humanist.

And as I travel the world and get ready to set out on another adventure, I know I am forever trying to find my dad. And I know I will never find him. Maybe that's not true. When I let go. When I stop trying and stop thinking and stop fighting, I realize he's right with me. In my heart, my thoughts, my mannerisms. He is the mold that made me.