No matter how repetitious it all became, we could not seem to stop ourselves from watching. She was five on the day our world changed, and she recalls vividly watching images of the burning towers on television. "Why does this keep happening?" my child of the video generation had asked. At least she hadn't asked why it happened at all. That would have been difficult to answer. She admitted to me yesterday that, back then, it had not occurred to her that there were people in those smoldering, collapsing buildings. I am thankful for that.
Ten years later, it's difficult to imagine what the world was like without the threat of terrorists willing to go to unimaginable lengths to create destruction and despair. We move without complaint through security lines in airports, we eye the most innocuous looking package with great suspicion, we are unfazed by hideous concrete blockades lined up in front of government buildings. A couple couldn't even make out in peace in an airplane lavatory yesterday; their foray into the "mile high club" resulted in the scrambling of F16's to escort the plane down. Jeez, folks. Get a room. A real room.
On September 12, 2001, we were all still in shock. We were horrified, vulnerable, terrified. The skies were eerily quiet, with all air traffic halted indefinitely. The images of the day before were everywhere, the sense of loss was immeasurable. Ten years later, on 9/12, when I flipped on the morning news, I half expected to see a continuation of the coverage, remembrances of the remembrances. On one channel, they opened with Serena Williams' outburst at the U.S. Open. On another, they teased viewers with a report that Spongebob Squarepants might be bad for children.
Life goes on.
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