It's hard for me to truly wrap my head around the idea that 9/11 was 6 years ago.
The first time I heard that something had happened at the towers, I was on the phone with a client, and didn't really pay much attention.
But when you work on the corner of 8th Avenue and W. 36th street, why not go to the roof of the building and have a look see.
When the second plane hit we knew that something was wrong.
When we saw the buildings fall I was in shock.
We walked down 34th street to Broadway and headed downtown. Cars were parked, doors open, radio blaring the news, so people walking by could figure out what was happening. The car owners couldn't get out of Manhattan anyway.
The Bridges were closed, and the subway was shut down. I think you could go to Jersey from GWB but that didn't help the Brooklyn crowd, so we walked.
And the sirens blared by.
The smoke got thicker.
The ash covered you.
Papers floated through the air like dust bunnies cascading down from your ceiling fan.
Like a scene from a bad action movie, thousand upon thousands of people walked across the Manhattan bridge to get anywhere but there.
It was hot that day. Very hot for September. People were sweating in Shirt sleeves. Store owners benevolently passed out water bottles with a wave and a kind word, refusing money as we continued our trek.
All in all I walked 11 miles that day. My feet weren't tired, but I was mentally exhausted. I knew that this would be my generation's JFK assassination. I didn't have the perspective of history, but I knew that I'd have to explain this day to my children someday. And I knew that they'd never quite understand it.
I might have curled up an collapsed when I got home, but my wife hadn't made it back from teaching in Canarsie yet.
So I waited.
I think that's when I knew that my childhood was over. I started the day a twenty something kid, with a degree and a good job, but I was never quite comfortable in my own skin. That day I knew that nothing else really mattered . And I knew I could never go back.
There something round about the number 5. I think last year we gave ourselves permission to move on. The sadness that I remember permeating previous September 11ths seems to have faded away with the smoke that seems so fresh some night when I wake up to check on my children.
This year, the people around me don't seem to have taken note as much.
And I can't help but reflect on how much my world changed that day- how much my children's world changed that day. The rhetorical "war on terror" is something so much greater to me. Iran is seeking Nuclear weapons, Saddam who has used WMD in the past was continuing to produce them, and seeking nuclear capabilities. We'll probably never know how many stockpiles were transferred to Syria before the war broke out.
Israel, the only Democracy in the Middle East, is besieged by terrorist regimes (Hizzballah in the North, Hamas in the South) cold peace with surrounding Arab neighbors, and a dysfunctional government with lower approval rating the W's.
The world is a dangerous place. On the most fundamental level, I truly believe that the world is split between the free world, and oppressive regimes that suppress their own people, and seek destroy anyone who is different.
This struggle for survival is as stark as the Soviet arms race and the struggle to defeat communism.
And we seem to have lost sight of that big picture in our national political game.
I look back and I'm sad. Sad for lost life. Sad for lost innocence. Sad for the world I knew on September 10th, sitting in the Park Avenue Sports Club watching the Giants lose to Denver and talking about the Yankees chances for a 4th straight World Series.
That world is gone, and six years later- or sixty- I lack the wisdom or the perspective to truly digest what that means.