Milestone anniversaries – no matter what the event – invariably lead to greater than usual reflection as to why we remember those dates on the calendar.
For me, September 11 is a day which drives home the inevitability of our mortality.
Ten years ago, it was a day that stunned me into silence.
It was a day of ominous signs such as cable television channels preempting their entire day’s schedule to display a screen with the message, “In light of today’s events, all programming has been cancelled so staff may be with family.”
It was a day I sought the company of friends I hadn’t seen in a few months.
It was a day when I had one of the longest phone conversations with my mom we have ever shared.
It was a day I prayed for people I had never known – especially those whom I would never have the opportunity to know.
It was a day I feared not for my country necessarily but for the price that would be paid by our men and women in uniform.
While the vast majority of you who read my essays, columns, rants, and rare short notes have come to know me principally as one of a growing hoard of politicos, I find myself thoroughly unwilling to politicize 9-11.
There have been no lack of posts and discussions surrounding what has and what has not been included in various 9-11 commemoration ceremonies.
If you believe you can do better, then do it.
I went to the prayer sessions and candlelight vigils that were held that evening. People didn’t stand around waiting for someone to organize anything: they just came together.
If the ceremony plans of public officials don’t sit well with you, ignore them in favor of your own…
…And witness the power of the individual.
The brave men on United Flight 93 showed us that.
What will you show America?
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