Eight years later

I remember where I was. I was in my freshman year of college and I was getting ready to leave the house for orchestra practice. I came in from putting my bass in the car and my mom told me a plane had just flown into one of the towers of the World Trade Center. I don't remember where Alex was. I don't remember what I said to my mom. I just remember getting into the car with the distent impression that the whole thing was a bizarre accident.

I listened to the BBC World News report as I drove. As I did every Tuesday morning. Another plane hit. This was something weird. Bizarre. Everyone was searching for explanations.

As I approached the rehearsal hall I didn't hear anything. Bizarre. The mix of violin and woodwinds with a blast of brass was missing. I was only 15 minutes early, but the hall was empty. I put my things away and walked down to the student center. There they were. The orchestra was not playing music. It was watching TV. I didn't see the tower fall. Someone whispered that to me. Rehearsal was canceled.

And now, today as I drove my daughter to school we listened to NPR.
A reporter said, "September 11, eight years later..."
Alex asked, "How can today be eight years later?"

Eight years later and its already happened. September 11, 2001 will never mean the same to her as it does to those who were old enough to remember. Just as I don't even know, off the top of my head, what day the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. The Vice President is speaking at Ground Zero today. The President will speak in New York next week, to commemorate and remember the first anniversary of the collapse of Lehmon Brothers.

How quickly things change. How fast we move on. How soon we turn our back on our past.