September 11, 2001

As a child, there was a distinct moment when I realized that the world was not all rainbows, barbies, and hair bows. The moment when I realized there are bad people in the world who do terrible things. There is no monster in bathtub drain or sharks under the bed, but there are real people who seek to hurt people. And every generation shares a day of tragedy when that epiphany is realized or relived. For our grandparents, it was December 7th, 1941; for our parents is was November 22nd, 1963; and for us it was September 11, 2001. I know this post is a few days late, but I felt like I needed to add to the conversation. To me, the memory of 9/11 doesn't entice me to hatred or fear. It was a terrible day, but once the dust settled, we chose to crawl from the rubble, stand tall, and be strong. The country was a country of hope after the attacks, and that entices me to be proud.