As I sat watching one of the 9-11 memorials this morning, Mr. I came up behind me. I could see that he was getting a little impatient for me to stop listening to the names being read so that he could use the computer. I realized he doesn't understand what happened that day ten years ago. He was only one year old. A toddler. He has grown up with things that are still difficult for me to get used to. He doesn't understand that the older kids used to watch their daddy's plane land or take off from the window at the airport gate instead of waiting at the cell lot and picking him up at the curb. He doesn't realize that you could take food and drinks from home on the plane, or that a person could mail a package easier, or go to Mexico and Canada with just a driver's license, or that people felt safer. He grew up with it. This is a bit sad, and kind of like when I was a kid and we practiced bomb drills. Of course, in the Midwest they were also tornado drills, which to me was a bit easier to deal with. I can see that the kids see terrorism as a part of life. My son wanted to know if we got the guys who did it. I told him they died too, and we recently got the guy who was the main planner. But I didn't tell him there are still more out there who would do it again if they had a chance.
My kids went through pretty scary things when they were young. They saw domestic abuse. They saw drug and/or gang violence. They were neglected by those who should have cared for them. They still have a lot of fear. I want to shield them from fear, but I can't shield them completely. I pray that they don't have to see any more violence the rest of their lives, that they can live in peace. It's a pretty big prayer.