That morning, we heard about the first plane on the radio and figured it was a terrible tragedy with a small plane, then turned on the TV and were watching when the second plane hit. My husband decided to go to work anyway, but turned around when he heard about the Pentagon on the radio. We sat and cried in shock, thinking nothing would ever be the same again.

What shocks me now is how little has changed. We are still largely complacent. The U.N. still exists in its toxic form. I did not expect either of those things. (Nor would I have ever dreamed that we would join the so-called Security Council, much less chair a session of it.)

I tried to be patient with people who didn’t understand Bush, who called him a warmonger. I knew people were frightened, I tried to allow for that. I figured they would come around. Now I don’t know what to think. I really don’t.

My mom asked, early on, “why does this man want war?” I said “because freedom is at stake!” I thought that would sound familiar to her. My father and everyone he knew signed up for the service when the U.S. entered World War II for exactly that reason, and he never talked about it except when it was necessary to make that particular point about what was at stake. My mom was a few years younger, about the age during World War II that I was during the Vietnam War, and equally clueless, it seems. She didn’t get it. She hadn’t learned it. (And, yes, neither had I, until rather recently.)

My father’s silent wisdom together with my mother’s silent ignorance present a grim summary of our culture.

Sometimes I feel good about the way many of us are trying to gulf that gap, by sharing our ideas and doing our best to listen to one another.

Sometimes.

It’s something you never forget, though they are trying very hard to make sure our kids do. I’m sure the ultimate plan is to have 9/11 eventually known for being “Service Day” and nothing else.

This is excellent.