Jeff Davis | Vent Section Manager

You don't expect a lot of the things you've been seeing lately. If you walk into a lot of stores and purchase something, they'll reward you with an American flag sticker. You walk down the streets and flags adorn the porches like high school diplomas displayed with the highest element of pride. For the first time I can remember, everyone I see is damn proud to be an American.

And they should be. In the wake of horrid tragedy this country is moving on and everyone, for the most part, is supporting each other to the best of each others' abilities. Even road rage is minimal. No one's given me the finger for driving the conservative speed limit since that day. If you've got a shred of humanity in you, you're not going to insult a person being cautious for his life on a day many have already lost theirs.

While I am very proud of the spirit that has prevailed like thick London fog, I have also come to a terrible conclusion. By and large, this country seems to unite only in tragedy.

Sound ridiculous? Consider the narrative of "Tayo," a character in Leslie Marmon Silko's novel "Ceremony." Tayo, a European-Native American, has just come back from World War II and is drinking with some friends, discussing his experiences as a multi-racial person during and after the war. He describes how, when still a soldier, women would treat him like he was a man, and not a distant body from a culture they did not understand. White people would buy him drinks. They did not see his creamy brown skin, only his uniform, a uniform worn when destroying people turned into "targets" under the unwritten laws of warfare. But when the war was over and the uniform was removed, store-owners waited until all the white customers were gone until he reluctantly rang up Tayo's items.

It took a war for anyone to realize Tayo's humanity. When the war was gone, he was a distant person, separated from the dominant paradigm because he did not fit its mold and did not waltz as the others did. Tayo here, whites over here. It was that simple.

It is in peril that we see what means everything to us. To continue the World War II metaphor, women were rarely found in any branch outside of secretarial work, nursing or teaching. They were employed by the thousands to support the war effort.

There was a blood shortage way before those planes crashed. Why do we wake up now? Because we take way too much for granted. We find gruesome news reports plastered all over the television screen like third-grader artwork on the refrigerator and then we finally make the connection: I should do something for my country, I should do something for my world. Honestly, that shouldn't have been news to anyone.

I don't want to trivialize what's taking place now. It's a delightful feeling to see the pure humanity I am seeing. But I should be seeing this spirit every time I walk out of my house. Thousands of people should not have to die before we realize we need to accept and embrace our differences. Terror should not reign before peace.

For decades to come, our generations will grieve the events that happened in New York, Arlington and Pennsylvania last month. I know that for my generation it has to be the most significant event we've ever experienced. Remember not just where you were or where you stashed the novelty newspaper. Remember who reached out to you, and who extended you the very same support.

In joy and apocalypse, we must hold hands. With black or blond hair hair we must lean on each other's shoulders. On sunny days shooting rays like Aphrodite's fingers and days with clouds as menacing as the salute of a dictator we must offer shelter. No one is ever an island, no matter what the world situation.

We are not just citizens of America. Think bigger. We're citizens of the world.