I'm going to a party tonight.
I'm not much of a party goer, but I will enjoy this party. And what I will enjoy even more is its date: September 11.
"9/11", in our country, has a certain meaning. We all know it means "September 11, 2001", also known as the day that terrorist attacks in three points of our country (the World Trade Center in New York City, the Pentagon in Virginia, and a Pennsylvania farm where a plane destined for still another target crashed) took over 3,000 lives.
I grew up in New York City. 13 of these people who died (including a fireman) went to my high school, and some others from my school helped in the aftermath. I know several people who saw one or both World Trade Center towers fall. I know people who knew people who died there. I knew someone, up here in Binghamton, who lost one of his two sons. A part of him died that day, too, and he took early retirement later that year. He lost his other son several years later, in what I suspect may have been "collateral damage".
It was a horrific story, retold and retold each and every year as the anniversary approached. But, actually, many other things have happened on September 11, including it being my late father in law's birthday.
For years, no one would hold a happy event on September 11. But that is changing.
I felt, years ago, that life would go on eventually, and September 11 would again be a day during which people in the United States could be happy. We would still remember, but we could also be happy.
Perhaps, twelve years later, that time has come.