Never Forget

When I was fifteen, my mother shared with me her story of the day JFK was assassinated. Her junior high classroom, the shock of a school full of teachers and students, tears streaming down the faces of almost everyone around her. Her audible recollection did a few things for me; it allowed me to visualize my own mother at an age younger than I was (the very first time I had ever even thought of her life before me), and it made me feel a connection with her as I came to terms with almost the same scenario in my own life. Not an assassination, but rather the mid-launch explosion of the space shuttle Challenger that claimed the lives of all on board – including a teacher, which was why all the TV’s in the school were on as we watched this all play out on live television.

Many years later, on a sunny Tuesday morning, another much graver scenario was also playing out on live television. As I sat there, frozen in shock and glued to each and every scene taking place thousands of miles from me, and still right in front of my eyes, I remember thinking…this is my JFK story. Like the generation before my mother had their Pearl Harbor story, and my mom had hers…this was mine. I will never forget. I will remember the sun creeping in through the windows as it settled on the day, the utter nausea I felt knowing there were babies on those planes and parents who were helpless to defend them, the fear with which we decided to keep all of our children out of school until we knew more about the attacks, the warmth of the September morning on my face existing simultaneously with the coldness in my heart toward the monsters who claimed so much innocence that day…I will rememer it all.

Today, I choose to honor the lost with my LIFE. I represent the dead by LIVING. We will pay tribute to the families who lost fathers, mothers, and children that terrible day – by loving and laughing as a father, mother, and children on this glorious day. When the day comes that my children have the unfortunate experience that defines their time and gives them their own story to tell…I pray God will see them safely through it. Then, I will share my story about that sunny Tuesday morning just like my mother did for me.