Sunday, September 11, 2016

On 9/11

This morning, Luca and I were playing with Play-Doh in the living room. We made a car and a pizza and a lopsided snowman and I turned on the news, like I do every year, and watched the 9/11 memorial coverage. One of the reporters said something about how it’s been 15 years now and there are kids learning about what happened in history books and studying it at school.

And I realized, as I watched Luca shape the yellow dough in his chubby hands, that he would be one of those kids. Not to say we wouldn’t talk to him about it or visit the memorial, but that it will always be something he learns about instead of experienced.

We'll explain what happened, we'll honor those we lost. And he’ll ask, likely in that offhanded way that kids do, where we were. I was in Boston, but John was there. Not in either of the buildings, but around the corner. Like so many people, close enough for it to have had a profound effect. It’s not my story to tell, and one day he’ll explain it to Luca, to any other kids we have. One day Luca will learn in the only way we know how: through teaching, through telling stories, through remembering. 

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