I am warning you now. This chapter is going to have both highs and lows, but the lows are going to be rough and will not be easy to read at times. Some of them I have never talked about much in detail or at all because they're painful. When I planned on telling my story, I made a promise to myself that I wasn't going to only portray the comely and exciting parts of my life. The raw and emotional experiences have to have a place. To give a better picture of my past which shaped me into who I am today. This is going to be a long and tough chapter, so please bear with me.
The year started out with high spirits and expectations from what 2000 brought. Hitting double digits in age was very exciting and it meant I was that much closer to being a teenager. I had gained an interest in professional sports, latching onto football and basketball the most. The area I lived in had an NFL fan base that was split between AFC North rivals the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Baltimore Ravens. However, you could find the occasional Philadelphia Eagles fan and that was what I gravitated to. Why? Because a handful of my friends and church friends were Eagles fans and the eagle was one of my favorite animals. 2001 was also the year quarterback Donavan McNabb broke out for the Eagles since being drafted in 1999. I watched them go to 4 straight NFC championship games and even one Super Bowl, making me a lifelong fan. In terms of basketball, I simply jumped on the Kobe Bryant & Shaquille O'Neal L.A. Laker bandwagon. They were fun to watch and paired with guys like Derek Fisher, Robert Horry, and Rick Fox, they were winning championships and I loved it.
Getting hooked on sports was also perfect timing for me as I followed the NFL playoffs all the way to the Super Bowl and watched my very first one the whole way through. Anyone who followed football at that time will never forget its significance. A no-name back-up quarterback by the name of Tom Brady led the New England Patriots to an unlikely upset over Kurt Warner's Rams and the Greatest Show on Turf. I was in my parent's bedroom, watching this game on a tiny, portable TV that had static interference now and then, but I was witnessing a legend being born. And as my love for sports grew, I added a third to my interests, but this one comes with a scary tale.
In recent years, my parents and some others who attended the Sunday meetings would go to a special Saturday night church meeting located in Gratz, PA. It was located an hour away so they would all carpool and find a babysitter for us. In February, the date of the meeting was Saturday the 17th. My parents asked Sue to come watch us. They would be back by the time we were in bed. It was their turn to drive and they took our early 90s Chevrolet Lumina minivan. My anxiety being what it was, I wasn't totally comfortable with them going that far even though they'd done it before with no problems, but I had known Sue almost my whole life and that made things easier. My parents told us to be good, said goodbye, and headed off as they had done before.
Sue kept us kids entertained until it was finally time to go to bed. I fell asleep knowing I'd wake up to my parents making breakfast and then we'd get to go to Al and Sue's for church. Sometime during the night, I woke in fright from a bad dream. I have no recollection of what the dream was, but I do remember flying out of my bed, running into my parents dark bedroom, and softly calling out to them. No response. In a panic I flipped on the bedroom lights. There was a neatly made bed and no parents. I turned off the light and ran into the living room. There was Sue half-asleep in a chair. I asked her where mom and dad were. She responded with a sleepy "I don't know." At this point, I thought it still may be the bad dream but wasn't 100% convinced. The only logical option was to go back to bed and hope to "wake up" from the dream. That's what I did.
The sun arose and I woke up to our house filled with a lot of people. Just as I was walking into the kitchen, Alice came through the door exclaiming that the lost had been found! I still didn't have the slightest clue what was going on, why was everyone here, and where my parents were. Finally, someone felt it was time to fill me in. On the way back from Gratz, that old van broke down on the side of the road. No one in the van had cellphones as they weren't a big deal yet. My parents tried to flag cars down all night but no one stopped. Remember, this was February so it was very cold out. With the van not working, they couldn't run the heat. As morning approached, someone finally stopped and gave them the assistance they needed to get in contact with family and friends and get home. It was a bit of saving grace that I didn't know those details until they were found otherwise my irrational fears would've been out of control. Upon arriving home, after a cold and sleepless night, my grandparents offered to take us for the day so Dad and Mom could get some sleep. Little did I know that doing so would add another major aspect to my life.
Upon arrival at my grandparent's house, I asked if we could watch TV. Normally this would mean putting in a VHS tape and watching cartoons that ranged from Bugs Bunny to Ronald McDonald to even some older classics like Betty Boop and Mighty Mouse. But not today. I had asked specifically if we could watch the NASCAR race. The Daytona 500. Up until this point, I really had no interest in NASCAR. They didn't broadcast most races on public television yet and I never had the desire to follow it. That all changed when a Saturday morning cartoon that became one of my favorites first aired. It was called NASCAR Racers. I found it cool because they drove crazy cars on insane and unrealistic tracks. They had jet boosters on their cars and could do all these crazy stunts. They were also allowed to crash each other and had rescue racers built into their cars which acted like ejection seats on fighter jets. The cartoon had been out for a couple years, but I was hooked. That Saturday morning before my parents left for Gratz, my mom saw me watching it and happened to mention that NASCAR's big race was tomorrow. That had peaked my interest enough to want to see what the fuss was about. So that's what Grandpa and I did. We sat in his TV den and watched the 2001 Daytona 500.
To me it was incredible. Colorful cars with cool paint schemes flying around a track at over 100mph, bumping, trading paint, and coming close to wrecking so many times had me on the edge. Then a large crash happened and the #20 Home Depot car driven by Tony Stewart went airborne. Never in my life had I seen a 2.5 ton car get tossed like a rag doll. The crash was big, but thankfully everyone walked away. Before the race was over, I had officially become a Jeff Gordon fan. I loved his rainbow colored paint scheme, his charisma, and he had made quite a name for himself in the NASCAR world. Unfortunately he wasn't in contention to win by the end, but another legend was. A man by the name of Dale Earnhardt. He was known as the Intimidator and he drove a black #3 Chevy. Tied for the most championship wins in NASCAR history, at 49 years old he was still racing with the best of them. He was sitting in the top 5 on the last lap, trying to hold off the competition while the drivers of cars he owned, Michael Waltrip and Dale Earnhardt Jr (his son), were leading their way towards the checkered flag. On the 4th and final turn, Dale Sr's car spun and plowed straight into the concrete wall, eventually coming to rest on the infield. Coverage went back and forth showing the race winners and showing the wrecked cars. Ambulances flew to the infield and eventually coverage solely focused on the drivers who finished the race. Coverage of the race concluded without word on the status of Dale Earnhardt. It wasn't until the next morning when I saw the newspaper that I found out Dale was killed in that crash. I was stunned. I saw a car go airborne, land on top of another car and both drivers walked away. Dale's crash didn't look as bad, but he didn't walk away. The sport I was falling in love with took a dark turn. It was my very first race and it happened on the last lap. To this day I wish I would've had the chance to see Dale race the entire season. Even with the dark cloud that hovered over the NASCAR world, I had found a new passion.
Winter gave way to Spring and then spring into Summer. The drag of the school year had faded and at 10 years old, the summer sun was more welcoming than ever. The calendar turned to July and the 4th rolled through with its traditional bang. But July had another life changing event in store. My mom was expecting child number 6. Another boy. When it was time for him to be born, my parents packed us all a days worth of clothes and dropped us off at Al and Sue's while my dad took my mom to the hospital. That was a treat for us to be able to sleep over at Al and Sue's house for a night. When it came time for bed, Sue tucked me in and I drifted off to sleep in expectation of going to the hospital the next day.
"Hey bud, you have to wake up," a voice said as I was gently being shaken. I slowly came out of my slumber, but something was off. It was still pitch black outside and I'm pretty sure it was my dad who woke me. My brain didn't feel rested and I was so groggy I couldn't see straight. "What's going on?" I mumbled. "Come downstairs," a sober voice said. I stumbled down the stairs to find the rest of my siblings assembled on the couch. All the lights were still off except a single lamp providing a soft glow. My dad looked like a mess. Thankfully it was too dark for me to see the actual condition he was in, but the words he spoke next were ones no 10 year old should never have to hear. "You're little brother...he didn't make it." My mind went into shock. It couldn't comprehend anything else my dad was trying to say and I couldn't tell if I was dreaming or not. I wasn't. We were immediately packed into the car a headed for the hospital. I don't remember the ride as I think I tried to fall asleep as it was well past midnight and my mind was numb. We all arrived at the hospital, made our way through the maze that it was, and finally reached my mother's room. We all filed in to find her awake in the bed, the baby in her arms, and a lot of nurses. Those nurses held it together incredibly well, but I could tell it was just as hard on them as it was on us. Seeing five young, sleep deprived children who had to come say goodbye to a sibling they never had the chance to meet in the dead of night had to have taken a heavy toll.
I had to sit down in a chair because my tired legs and already emotionally exhausted brain couldn't handle anything at the moment. Then my sister lost it. I put my head between my knees. I didn't want to look at anyone. I couldn't bear to see the sadness in their faces nor did I want to show mine. I also hated hospitals. I didn't like the waiting rooms, the commotion, the smells, and what being in one usually meant. And at 10 years old, I emotionally couldn't handle it.
There was a large chair in the corner of the room. We each sat in it and were given an opportunity to hold him. Truthfully, I didn't want to. I was in a place were death absolutely terrified me and I was concerned I was going to react in a bad way. But a small part of me willed myself to do it for my parent's sake and to avoid creating a huge regret later in life. As he was placed into my arms, my poor brain was trying to keep my body together. I wished for one second he would open his eyes or even let out a loud cry, but neither of those things were going to happen. After what seemed like a small eternity, the nurses took him to let my other siblings hold him. Then they took him again and made a mold of his foot prints to have something to remember him by. Someone must've noticed my sleep deprivation was about to do me in, so we were told to say our goodbyes and then we were taken back to Al and Sue's to go back to sleep.
The next morning I felt strange. My life was supposed to change, but my brain was telling me nothing was going to be different now. My heart felt like it had spent all its grief the night before and didn't want to endure any more sorrow. It was as if my inner child wanted to hit the super speedway back to normalcy. But that wasn't the case. We had a funeral and it was the first one I had memory of attending. I didn't comprehend what exactly was going on and ended up wandering around to people I thought may be exceptionally sad and tried to comfort them. Over the coming days, weeks, and months, my unintentional suppression of grief would only cause random breakdowns that didn't occur when I got the news, nor at the funeral. Eventually, time took care of the grief, but there'll always be a small part that knows something is missing. At the time of this writing, he would've been 20 years old. His name was Samuel Peter.
2001 wasn't done delivering blows. To the American people, one of the biggest was coming. It was a beautiful, sunny day in southern, PA on September 11, 2001. I was preparing for that day's home school lessons when I found my mom staring at the TV. She was just staring as if she had seen a ghost. I asked her what was wrong. She said Alice had called and told her to turn on the TV. She said the World Trade Center towers in New York had been struck by planes. Images of the burning towers flashed on the screen. The replays of the planes flying into the towers. It was like a reoccurring bad dream. Eventually the truth came out. Terrorists had attacked America unlike they ever had before. The WTC wasn't the only target. The Pentagon was hit. A fourth plane crashed in a Pennsylvania field destined most likely for the White House. I remember seeing the horrifying images throughout the day. I hadn't seen news coverage like this since Princess Diana's death. What I didn't realize then was that a striking terror had covered the USA. Since I was homeschooled, I did not witness millions of parents leaving work and pulling their kids out of class for fear that schools would be targeted. Every plane in the US was grounded. The entire government went into lockdown. The attacks exposed an ugly truth. Until this point, I thought suicide attacks of this multitude could only happen in countries in the Middle East and Africa. My view of the world was shattered.
My anxiety wouldn't let me shake those images. As the news covered the event, all I saw was death. The front pages of newspapers showed the burning buildings, bloodied people in the streets of NYC, people jumping out of the towers to avoid the flames. It was terrifying to a 10 year old. And it was the first time in my life that I feared evil people from other parts of the world. My love of airplanes was ravaged. It was a scary time to be a kid in America. And the worst part was the TV stations covered it immensely for weeks, especially when the US announced retaliation and eventually war. I remember staring at the screen and seeing nothing but the pitch black dessert of Afghanistan suddenly filled with green flashes as the night vision camera caught the bombing of supposed terrorist locations. It was the first time in my life that I truly realized what evil in the world could do.
One thing from those days that is burned into my mind is how Americans came together to help each other out. First responders ran into those towers to save others and some never made it out. The passengers of Flight 93 found out what was going on, knew they were doomed and decided to go out fighting by taking control of the plane and crashing it into an empty field instead of its intended target. People treated each other more like neighbors instead of strangers. To say patriotism swelled would be an understatement.
There are two sides to the coin and there was a bad side here too. A fear and hatred for Muslims and people of Arabic heritage arose. I can't put into words what they were put through even though they had nothing to do with the terrorist attacks. Many of them American citizens themselves. All these years later it's still heartbreaking to hear their stories of the pain and suffering they went through. And like 9/11, that too should not be forgotten.
My grandparents lived through the Great Depression and World War 2. My parents experienced the Vietnam War, Korean War, and the Cold War. The September 11th terrorist attacks and the wars that followed were my first experiences of a major tragic event in human history. And they came when I was 10 years old, changing not only my views, but also how the world operated. To this very day, the effects of September 11th, 2001 can still be felt in this country.
Thankfully 2001 didn't end on another gut punch, but rather with a pleasant surprise that was going to affect my life for the next year an a half. My 11th birthday was one of my most memorable childhood birthdays. On the day of, I spent the day with my mom. We ate at Wendy's for lunch and then she took me to a place called Hickory Falls Fun Center. It was a newer place that was similar to Falloon's as mentioned in previous chapters. Since it was mid-day, there weren't that many people around and I could practically play any arcade game I wanted. I gravitated towards my nemesis...Cyclone. It flashed a jackpot of 200+ tickets, almost as if it was taunting me. One by one, I fed my tokens into the machine. After a few misses, I had that light down to a science. I shoved another token into the machine and listened as it clanked and rattled its way in. Then the light reversed course, ready to be stopped. I bent low and stared at the jackpot bulb. I counted each time the light passed. One. Two. Three. I held my breath and on the fourth count, I smashed the button. I nearly fell backward as alarms started going off. The machine was going berserk. The jackpot number started flashing like I'd never seen before. Suddenly, tickets came spewing out of the machine faster than a cheetah at full speed. I had finally done it. I conquered the Cyclone! My reward was the biggest ticket payout I'd ever hit in my life. The euphoria I felt in that moment was indescribable. The lady working there that day said that was the biggest payout she'd ever seen. Man it felt good to be alive.
The birthday party was a fun one with a house filled with family and friends, games, and lots of cake. Al & Sue were there and they brought my best pal Joe with them. He had a card for me. When I opened it a colorful, hand-made certificate with a note came out. It read something along the lines of, this certificate certifies for Joshua Watkins to play soccer this upcoming spring. I didn't make sense of it at first, but it was explained to me that I had been signed up for the intramural soccer league that Joe was part of. Being homeschooled, I wasn't involved with organized sports, so this was a pleasant surprise. Little did I know then, but that little card was going to impact my life for the next year and a half more than I ever knew. Also, a few weeks after my birthday, Jeff Gordon won his fourth NASCAR championship, making me a very very happy kid.
In a year that dealt many dark blows, it also provided light through the clouds. Butterfly effect moments that ultimately changed who I was and what I would experience as my life continued on. In the years of my life that made a huge mark, 2001 surely was one of them. The scars we carry tell stories. Stories of who we are and how we came out stronger. 2001 became a stepping stone along my journey; another page in my book. And now we turn that page.
