Married to Mr. McGoo
By: Linda McCarthy
Note: My thoughts and prayers are with all the 9/11 victims and their families. My husband, Dave and I lost many friends that day and part of the healing process for us includes humor.
Five years ago on a sunny Tuesday in September I was preparing to get my car inspected when I received a frantic call from my sister in Germany. She screamed into the phone, "Turn on the TV! A plane hit the World Trade Center!"
My husband, Dave, was on the 50th floor of the North Tower. For the next several hours I found myself fielding phone calls and preparing food for the influx of concerned neighbors. Their support was overwhelming and a bit surprising. Dave’s company moved to the World Trade Center one week prior to the attacks. How so many knew he worked there, I’ll never know. I have no idea where any of my neighbors work. In truth, I didn’t know which tower or which floor Dave was on until he came home and told me. I’m working on my listening skills.
Despite the frantic nature of the day I knew Dave would be alright. I’ve known this man since we were sophomores in high school. His mantra is, "Whew that was close!" I’ve nicked named him Mr. McGoo because he goes along whistling a happy tune oblivious to the total destruction in his wake. It’s a pattern that started early in his life.
When he was a kid he was playing in the woods with some other boys. As he was walking home, the fire engines whizzed by him. Apparently the campfire they made wasn’t as "out" as they thought it was. The little adventure took a quarter mile swath of trees. One winter he was ice skating on a local pond. He fell through the thin ice but saved himself by extending his arms to the side. He walked home whistling, wet and cold. He found out the next day the rescue squad had to be called for the four other kids that fell in after him.
Before we were married he took me camping on the Delaware. I hated it. It rained the entire time. I complained so much we packed up and left. I guess with all the arguing we must have missed the fact that the river was rapidly rising. We were the last car out of the area before they closed the road. I looked back to see the river taking over our cozy camping spot.
One year he went to Kobe, Japan on business. As his plane was taking off for home a major earthquake hit the city.
I asked him to mail a letter at our post office. The next day it’s swarming with federal agents in hazmat suits searching for traces of the anthrax virus. Homeland security closed the New York subway station he normally takes because they uncovered a plot involving noxious gas.
He does have a tendency to aggravate people. But the events of 9/11 were beyond comprehension. Even I don’t get that mad at him. I suggested he take one for the team and surrender to the terrorists so they leave the rest of us alone. He was less than receptive. With this in mind, the only safe place is right next to him.
Let’s review, he’s been through fire, ice, flood, earthquakes, plagues and terrorist attacks. The only things missing are locusts and frogs but there are enough fruit flies in my kitchen to account for both.
Linda McCarthy resides in Robbinsville with her husband and three children.