Dear Spike:
Today had no particular significance to you. None more than yesterday. None more than tomorrow. You woke, ate, cried, napped, spent a bit of time trying to shove your entire fist in your mouth, and did a few other things that babies do. And then you went back to sleep.
This was not a day of infamy. Or of sorrow. Or of fear. This was not a day of hate.
This was not the day the towers fell.
Someday, I suppose, it will be. Maybe not so vividly. Certainly not so emotionally. But, at least, historically.
Today will be December 7. Today will be November 22. Another day one generation will never forget. Another day the next generation will hardly know.
So it goes. And goes. And goes.
I am pleased you will not know this day as I do. Someday, of course, you will come to apperceive that our species — capable of such love, generosity, understanding and acceptance — is also well-practiced in hate, greed, ignorance and intolerance.
But not today.
Today you know Sept. 11 as the day we went to the park and sat on a bench and watched other parents and their children walk by. This was the day you looked up, as the wind rustled through the branches of the trees, enchanted by the moving shapes, colors and shades. This was the day you cried for an hour straight for no particular reason at all.
This was the day I took you to the Senior Center, down the street from our home, to vote in the mayoral primary election. This was the day that the little old ladies all cooed over you as we waited our turn to vote.
This was the day you came to your mother’s rescue after a hard day teaching her kindergartners (the first crop of public school students to have arrived on this planet after the towers fell.) This is the day you fell asleep in her arms. This is the day your smile washed away her tears.
This is the day you wore a yellow cotton nightgown. This is the day you spit up on your yellow cotton nightgown. This is the day you wore a blue Superman shirt. This is the day you spit up on your blue Superman shirt.
No, today did not have any particular significance to you. None more than yesterday. None more than tomorrow.
I wish I could say the same. Oh God, how I do.
Love,
dad
1 comment:
Great column.
I am praying right now, at 4:30am, that Spike will see fewer of these kind of days than her great=grandparents have seen. I don't mean the spitting up days, although that would be nice too, I mean the days that a generation never forgets. My prayer is for all the Spikes and Olivas and Simranjits and Ping Yas and Juans and Chinikas and all the children in all the nations of the world, that their world is a place where more people love and less hate. It could happen!
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