My 9/11

I can't let today pass without writing something.

Five years after I watched the planes plow down the World Trade Center towers from the guidance counselor's office, I found myself at the Pentagon. I was there to collect anecdotes from people who had been at the Pentagon when Flight 77 crashed into it. Interestingly, the first person I talked to had been there. In fact, his office was hit and he helped rescue some co-workers. He was the only person willing to talk to me who had been there.

I went to the memorial at the Pentagon that had been arranged for families. I had expected tears and weeping. There were little of both.

I focused on the children playing in the grass, seemingly carefree. Two young girls were wearing a T-shirt in memory of a person I can only assume was her dad. They stood by their mom, who wore the same navy T-shirt. They reminded me of my family. They would have been much younger than Brooke and I were when our dad died.

President Bush and Laura Bush were there. Donald Rumsfeld, Karl Rove and a contingent of Congressmen and women paid their respects as well.

Tonight I watched Flight 93 on NBC. A Minnesota man, Tom Burnett, was on that flight. He's said to be one of the leaders that helped prevent the plane from hitting something more catastrophic than a field. I had talked to his parents earlier this summer when the movie Flight 93 debuted. So tonight's news segment, documentry, call it what you will, was of personal interest. He, too, left behind a wife and three young daughters.

Sometimes we complain about anniversaries. With every anniversary, another story gets re-told, and it becomes cliche. But anniversaries always mean something to someone. And I'm sure today will have special meaning for those little girls for the rest of their lives. We shouldn't forget that.