The Day That Changed Us

For some time now, I've been considering what to write, and indeed whether to write anything about 9-11. It is a day upon which every blogger in the galaxy shall no doubt post some deeply felt thought, or deeply emoted political rant.

And probably virtually all posts will begin with a discourse of "what I was doing that sunny Autumn morning in 2001." Like the "where were you when Kennedy was killed?" of the 60s, 70s, and 80s, this will be the "where were you when..." of our latter days.

As traumatic as that day was, and the blanching horror of its unfolding, it is what happened directly after that I'm concerned with here. Our culture immediately precipitated into two distinct phases: those committed to restoring peace by any means, and those committed to the integrity of the nation by any means. There is nobility in both impulses, no doubt, though many of us have learned that they are mutually exclusive. But it's only an observation--please don't mistake this for a political rant. I'm digging for deeper ore.

When a piece of iron is struck hard, the atoms within are suddenly shocked out of their crystalline lattice, and in a split second align with the Earth's magnetic field. Some to the North, some to the South, now irreversibly aligned. Our nation was similarly struck on that day, September 11, 2001. If I were to say that we were all changed forever, would it be a cliche? Yes--but it's one of those cliches repeated because they are so true.

This much may have been obvious, at least to you who lived it. But it is strange for me to look at birthdates of children--some as old as 9 now--for whom all this happened in the dim ancient history before they existed. And it is hard for me to imagine too in some ways, for I was different then. In fact I was a different person. The cells in a human being's body live for seven years, to be replaced by other cells. So in a sense, the organic structure that comprises the person that is you is regenerated every seven years. Beyond that biological trivium, I firmly believe that people change--psychically and spiritually--sometimes so drastically that the old person is cast aside. There is redemption and damnation and purgatorial transfiguration, all at our own hand and under our own will. The catalyst is history.

In those days I had no desire or use for children. I despised the squalid little things. I had better things to do with my life and time. Only a fundamentally different person could want to adopt a very strong willed, stubborn, difficult, devious, obsessive, sometimes impossible, and physically very strong child. Now I've discovered that the same little monster can be brilliant, deeply loving, and fascinatingly creative.

The day that changed us is never from an external event; it's always something we determine for ourselves. It may seem a happy cycling of events, from bad to good. But something now haunts me. Someday, I will have to explain 9-11 to my daughter. I will have to explain Evil.

I hope I'm not underestimating my child (again). But it's not enough to explain that "bad men did this." Every child understands that. Not even I comprehend what went into this atrocity. It is so repulsive, so... filthy, that I feel almost that I were abusing this child even to talk about it.

Unfortunately, there is no ignoring it. The children will find the most shocking of these videos and watch them. They always do. They are morbidly curious and always outwit our attempts at censorship.

If I've learned anything from being a parent, it's that children ask when they're ready to listen. When the question comes, I don't know what I will say. It will have to come from my deeply held beliefs, my experiences, and whatever poor understanding I've managed to glean from the wisdom of the generations. And it will have to be said clearly and simply.

Obviously, I am not up to the task. But on the day that changed me, I volunteered for things like this.