I will talk of 9-11 differently this year. I will talk of the day from a different angle. Long term readers know my story. I will talk of the shadow of being there.
In each generation there are defining events. In my generation it is 9-11. I didn't see it on screen for I was there.
The day belongs to this generation, it is in our memories.
I journey through life with its specter. In Vermont it is harder to avoid than NYC. There was a piece of steel at the building I worked in. I would walk to the lot and visit the small memorial in the parking lot. Well meaning coworkers would ask and I would convey what happened. On 7-7 the images stirred the memories in me. My kindly boss saw it and sent me home and told me don't look at the images.
Over time I returned home where people have a common experience. I walk past the site and was surprised that my memories were not of 9-11 but of my everyday travels in the site. I remember Big Bad Larry, Alphonso, Winston, Booker and all my friends going to work. I remember the French bakery next to the news stand and Borders. It was a beautiful well maintained place that was part of the fabric of my life.
I remember running sure that i was going to die that day singing an affirmation of faith.
Many great men perished there. I am troubled that a semi famous blogger trashed the first victim a gay priest. The priest did not run from danger. He performed his calling in unspeakable
conditions. He comforted the injured and those going in harms way. He displayed courage when others ran. Are we so wrapped in hate we can not recognize duty & courage.