Our youngest son knocked on the door and told us that a plane had hit World Trade Center. By the time I made it down, the second one had hit as well.
Horrifying. Grandma and I drove into town, glued to the radio, and heard the news of the collapse.
Nothing was getting done at the office. We were all just listening to the news. I finally had to go to a meeting, and one of the guys there was the most abrasive, contrary, hostile person I've ever known. He was muted. We were all muted. We just all went through the motions and left.
All planes were grounded. I had some business in Denver the next day. I drove there, and instead of the steady air traffic going to and from the airport, the skies were empty but for the occasion roar overhead of tandem F-18s. It was surreal.
In the days that followed, flags popped up on cars and trucks and outside homes. These words started appearing on stickers all over:
We need to return to that sentiment. As a country, we tend to push things to the background, to be brought out on proper occasions, like an anniversary. But this one, we should not, must not, forget.