days of infamy

Few of us will forget Pearl Harbor, “a date which will live in infamy.” FDR couldn’t have been more right. We remember still, as the last remnants of WWII veterans pass away. Its history will live on. And now, in this age, we have another day of infamy. 9.11.01, the day we remember. The day America, its ideals and people, was attacked.

I remember vividly where I was. I was only 8, and was watching tv; cartoons, most likely. Dad had just left for work, but called Mom not ten minutes after. He told her to turn the news on. We did; he came home. Then, for the next few hours, uncountable but dragging, we watched the horror unfold. I was too young to appreciate the devastation, to feel the anger, the burning wrath of indignation. I learned, in the later years, what happened, why; the dull, dusty politics and strategies that went into the event. It makes no difference. Anyone remember the two guys filming the event? Hearing the bodies of people jumping off buildings hitting the ground? I do. I still do, even though it’s been some years since I last saw it.

9.11. When our enemies celebrated a victory against us, counted by the number of our dead. Don’t think about the politics, about transgressions numbered and dealt out, about what we deserved or what followed. Remember those who died in panic and fear, those who gave their lives to save others, and those who can’t forget, when faced with the graves of their loved ones.

I do not react in anger anymore. I don’t call for equal slaughter or blood. It is not mine to deal out justice, or decide who gets it.

But I will never forget.

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