All of us, at least all of us of a certain age remember 9-11-2001. The subsequent 25 years have slid by quickly but that day remains firmly fixed in my mind. Like the day JFK was assasinated, or the days my children were born, some events are never forgotten. I remember rushing around getting ready to go to work when my then husband called to me "You need to come in and see this. Something big is happening." I knew he was watching the morning news as usual and didn't think much about it but he kept insisting so I went into the family room to see what was going on.
I got there just in time to see a plane crash into the second tower. We watched transfixed as towers fell and sirens wailed. As the awful news continued to unfold we learned of an attack on the Pentagon and a plane crash in Pennsylvania. A friend I was talking with earlier today reminded me of the mass confusion as airports were shut down and people were stranded all over the world.
I didn't fear for my own safety on that day but I did have a concern. My daughter's best friend from third grade through highschool is Indian and Muslim. She and her family have lived in the US since she was five years old. They are loyal citizens but in appearance their dark skin and hair could be mistaken for Saudi. I feared for their safety. Happily they lived in a neighborhood here in Fort Wayne where they were well known and accepted by their neighbors.
These days, when we travel by plane or ship, I try to be patient as we pass through security checks and have our carry-on luggage scanned. "It's ok," I tell myself, "I'd rather be safe."
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