September 11, 2001 . . . we all know what happened, we all know people who were affected by it. I am fortunate enough not to have lost anyone that day, but New York is my home. I grew up there, I worked there. I lived and breathed New York until about ten years ago when I moved away, so when that second plane hit and we realized it was intentinal, it made me angry. I felt violated.
Seven years later, our lives have changed enough for us to point back to that fateful day. Seven years later, justice really hasn’t been served, has it? Sure, a few higher-ups have been captured and imprisoned, but what has that accomplished? As Americans, we’re still hated by the people that formed those groups, and while I don’t live in fear that they will take action again, I am saddened that their beliefs are so strict that we cannot live in tolerance of one another.
Such is the allure of science fiction novels that depict a future in which a united Earth goes forth to explore the universe. These problems were resolved, tolerance and unity became the standard, and most people are happy. Life is not science fiction, not will it ever be, not from that angle. But it’s sure nice to daydream about it.
While daydreaming, I will not forget those who lost their lives on September 11th. I will not forget our armed forces who have tried and tried to bring order to the Middle East. I will not forget their families who live without them on a daily basis while tackling the normal challenges of everyday life. I will not hate those who can’t understand sharing and tolerance.
I can hope that change will come, that people will come. I don’t think my generation will be the one to do it. Perhaps my children’s generation. All I can do, beyond hoping, is teach my childen right and wrong, while hopefully, some other woman in the Middle East is teaching her children about right and wrong, about sharing and tolerance, and about the responsibility of change.
I will remember. And my children will learn.