It would be easy to spend the day wallowing around in the news coverage of the 9th anniversary of the September 11th attacks, but I’ve actually done my best to stay away from that today. Sure, I paused and reflected about where I was, where we were, and what we’ve become since then. I’m starting to see how our parents generation can point to the time before President Kennedy’s assassination as seeming to be more innocent. Hindsight does that, it seems; rounds off the sharp edges and gives things past the soft glow of a Norman Rockwell painting.
The world was a violent place long before September 11, 2001 and it will be violent a thousand Septembers from now. Even knowing that, there will never be an anniversary of this date that doesn’t drag me back to the memories of that morning – to the shock, the disbelief, the anger, and the pure raw hatred of those few who came here to attack us on a crystal clear September morning. History usually dulls some of the feeling in telling the story of the past. Maybe too few years have passed or perhaps this is one of those memories you keep with stark clarity for the rest of your life. In any case, it’s been a tough one – even without the accompanying chatter of the media.