Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Memory of airplane crashes

This is September 11th. No use not talking about it, what with all the TV specials and everything, although from my perspective, perhaps this is the least talkative year I can remember.

Okay. I was in my senior year at the University of Georgia. I was booking it to the dining hall so as not to miss breakfast. Two guys walking the opposite direction were talking about a plane crash in New York. I kept going, wondering what a plane crash in New York (state, I presumed) had to do with any of us. A dozen years later, it's still doing to us. You know?

That was the moment I heard. Understanding only came about an hour later, after I stepped out of a lab and people were frantically wheeling televisions into offices, unrolling extension cords, and screaming into phones.

I don't want to tell the whole story. Everyone has one. Mine, not so special. Maybe next year.

I still feel a little like a douche bag for my initial thoughts, and a few others later. Over the years, maybe I've tried compensating a little by paying more attention to regular plane crashes and other disasters. Not that much has happened that matches that day in September.

What could?

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