I’ve always been interested in history and I would read books on different eras, different events, and be fascinated by these momentous events and the strange customs of earlier times. I never realized that I regarded them with a certain sense of detachment, never really considering the scale or scope of what I was reading.

I see that detachment now in people who weren’t really conscious of what was happening on 9/11, too young to understand or not yet even born, and it creates a certain heartache in me. I want them to understand, to recognize the impact of the fear and sadness, and the small joys that followed with the outpouring of kindness that came in the wake of the most horrific thing many of us had ever seen.

It brings me a little shame too, in knowing that I’ve seen days marked on a calendar and watched them pass with little real acknowledgement towards what others suffered, because it wasn’t *my* era or *my* trauma. More than anything, though, I guess I just hope that the people and kids going about their day take a moment to stop and think. And I hope that they never have to experience such great sorrow in their lifetimes.