As You Like It: Bubble Wrapped

Bubble wrap sent a Philadelphia military academy into lockdown last week. According to US News and World Report:

Officials with the Valley Forge Military Academy and College say a student who lives in an Eastern University apartment building located on the academy’s property heard what she thought were shots fired Monday evening, and called 911.

The academy, Eastern University and nearby Cabrini University, were all placed on lockdown while police searched the area. They found no weapons or evidence of any weapons being fired, and no one was injured. The lockdown was lifted about an hour and a half later. Officials say it’s believed the sound the student heard was bubble wrap being popped.

Interesting world we live in when a popping sound sends us all into a panic.

This summer was our 40th wedding anniversary and we couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate than being with our kids. It’s funny that when the kids were younger we yearned for celebrations filled with romance. The most romantic words for us were, “I found a baby sitter!” Life changes.

So we flew off to Oakland. Mariel and Dan joined us from Houston and we had a wonderful time eating, talking, laughing, eating — yes we did a lot of eating. On Saturday morning we all went to visit the farmers’ market near Lisa and Matt’s house. I adore that place. It’s a madhouse of tastes and smells and salespeople trying to convince us that we had to buy their products. All the fruit was cut up for sampling as was cheese, bread, olive oils — an entire smorgasbord to enjoy on a warm, sunny day.

There was a jazz trio playing, and I stood there letting the sweet fruit dribble down my chin while listening to the music. There were herbs and flowers to smell, dogs to pat, and children were running around demanding ice cream. Mariel, Lisa and I admired some gorgeous pottery that I was tempted to buy.

When we were finally done we stood at the entrance of the market trying to figure out if we had forgotten anything. My mind registered a few loud pops, but I didn’t think anything of it. Suddenly the entire market erupted in screams with people racing to get out. I yelled, “Get down on the floor! Those were gunshots; everybody down!” Lisa started yelling, “I don’t see Daddy. Where is he? Where is he?” And then I heard Shatz answer, “I’m here.” I was just about to tell everyone to crawl quickly toward an exit when everything became quiet. As quickly as the panic had started it stopped.

Those pops were probably balloons bursting. We’ll never know. We left quickly, shaking, wondering at how quickly a normal, beautiful day could have become a bloody scene. I would guess that most of the people at that market had only ever heard gunshots on TV or in the movies, and yet they were ready to believe that’s what they heard that Saturday morning. That’s what our world has become. A world of sudden, inexplicable blood baths: Paris, Jerusalem, New York City, Boston.

In the years since the tragedy of 9/11 we have all become highly aware that we do not live in a safe world. Violence has become our new life partner. For many of us, the lucky ones, violence used to be something that we read about in the newspaper that happened in another part of the city or another country. We dropped our kids off at school and went to work sure of our safety. Everything changed on 9/11. We joined the rest of the world where there is no real “safe.”

In those few moments we realized that it could happen to us on our very doorstep. Bombs could explode, maniacs could pick us off with rifles, airplanes could fly into buildings. I had two thoughts on the morning the towers were hit: “It has followed me here; there is no safe corner to hide in anymore.”

I had lived in Israel for six years before returning to the U.S. For six years terrorists and war were my reality. Buses blew up, schools were bombed, streets became triage centers. During the Yom Kippur War every time the telephone rang it meant that a husband, a father, a brother was not coming home. I attended funerals that began to blend together — the tears, the wails, the disbelief. It was a year without end.

Later, after returning to the U.S., I remember the first year of living with the wonderful truth that life would be calmer from then on without the daily stress of waiting for something to blow up in my face. It took some getting used to. When I would try to explain this to my friends they would have no idea what I was talking about. Part of me was very glad. But after 9/11 my old reality had become theirs. There was no more “safe” for anyone.

One of the last times that our family visited Israel, Nahariya was hit by rockets. As I stood in the street watching buildings blow up down the street, I thought I must be watching this on TV. After a few weeks of sitting in bomb shelters hearing rockets falling, coming home was once again a relief.

We are very lucky here in America. We may not be as safe as we once were, but we are still a haven in this violent world. After all, no one can live their life wrapped in bubble wrap.

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Posted by Joan Florek Schottenfeld on Sep 23 2016. Filed under As You Like It, Featured Content, Opinion. Both comments and pings are currently closed.