I suspect that if you ask my grandfather where he was when Pearl Harbor was bombed, my mom and dad about JFK’s assassination or my generation about the space shuttle explosion – we could all relive the moment in amazing detail.
September 11 was one of those days.
I hope my children never have to know such details. I hope they will never have a sentence that starts with, “Oh, I’ll never forget where I was when X happened.” I hope they never see some of the evil that exists in this world. I hope.
But, I also know that remembering allows us one very important life lesson. To never forget. May we never forget what it was like that crisp September morning. I was making hot tea and playing with Will in the living room floor. He had just turned five months old. The phone rang and Scott told me to turn on the news. Something about a plane flying into the World Trade Center. There were Katie Couric and Matt Lauer broadcasting in disbelief. Then another friend called and Denise and I were talking when the first tower went down. We immediately hung up and I began to cry.
Horrific images. Dazed news reporters. Amazing stories of hope. Awesome displays of patriotism.
I have always been proud to be an American, but on September 11, I learned why.
God Bless America.