9/11, 9/12... What's the Difference?

I never met Tom.

And I never will.

Tom and I worked together.

Sorta.

We worked in the same building.

A big building.

But we never met.

As far as I know.

Tom never met his son either.

The boy was born in the spring of 2002.

Six months after September 11, 2001.

The day that Tom died.

Tom was a passenger on one of the planes that struck the World Trade Center.

He was headed home.

To be with his pregnant wife.

He never made it.

As you might imagine, I heard nothing but good things about Tom after that tragic day.

And apparently it was all true.

Tom was just a good guy.

Living the dream.

Making plans to be a dad.

For the first time.

Unfortunately he was in the wrong place.

At the very wrong time.

Sadly, Tom’s story is far from unique.

The list of people who were in the wrong place.

At the wrong time.

Runs long.

Very long.

2,977 long.

That’s the number of people who lost their life in the attack.

Ten years ago.

Today.

It’s still hard to believe.

Impossible to believe that what we all watched that morning was real.

And not some terrible made-for-TV movie.

I went to bed on September 10, 2011 with a disturbing image in my head.

The image of Denver Broncos Wide Receiver Ed McCaffrey breaking his leg on Monday Night Football.

Tuesday morning I didn’t even know a game had been played.

I woke up to a phone call that day.

I was told to put on the television.

When I asked what channel.

I was told, “it doesn’t matter”.

None of us saw the first plane hit the North Tower at 8:46 that morning.

But 17 minutes later we all saw the second plane hit the South Tower.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Even if we didn’t believe it.

It was real.

From that point on, it was impossible to turn off the television.

No matter what channel.

I will never forget watching the towers fall to the ground.

Like somebody had lit the game of Jenga on fire.

Like you, I have seen the horrifying images dozens of dozens.

Of dozens.

Of times.

And each time, I watch with my mouth wide open.

Even ten years later.

Exactly ten years later.

It’s still impossible to believe.

Impossible to comprehend.

To think that there were real people in those buildings.

It’s more than the human heart can handle.

When you think that there were brothers and sisters.

Fathers and mothers.

Aunts and Uncles.

Real people.

Losing their lives in front of our eyes.

It is a tragedy beyond words.

Exactly ten years later, many of us have moved on.

Maybe most of us have moved on.

Especially the lucky ones who didn’t lose anyone on that day.

Of course 9/11 is a day that this country will never forget.

But it is a day that many in this country will never truly remember.

For some, the only lasting memory is a longer wait at airport security.

Not being able to carry on toiletries more than 3.4 ounces can be such an inconvenience. 

Or God forbid your bag needs to get checked before you enter a stadium.

For so many, 9/11 is now just a day filed on the annual calendar.

A sad day?

Absolutely.

A tragic day?

No doubt.

A life changing day?

Not so sure.

Just a day.

You could certainly make a strong case that the war that ensued has affected many more people than those affected by the events on September 11, 2001.

In fact, since 9/11 more than twice as many U.S. Service Personnel have been killed in Iraq and Afghanistan than in the original attack on our soil.

6,239.

And counting.

Gone.

And many forgotten.

Of course there was something extra special about 9/11 this year.

It was the 10th anniversary.

And in this country, we love big round numbers.

But for the families that were changed forever ten years ago today.

Like Tom’s family.

There’s really not much of a difference between 9/11.

And 9/12.

Broken News

There are places you want to be.

And times you don’t want to be there.

I can’t imagine being in New York on September 11, 2001.

Or in Littleton, Colorado on April 20, 1999.

Or anywhere near Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941.

Tonight I am in my hotel room.

About 15 miles from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

The night we all learned Osama Bin Laden is dead.

A night no human will forget anytime soon.

A night we have all been waiting for.

A night many of us thought would never come.

It was just this afternoon our group visited the Pentagon Memorial.

Feet away from where American Airlines Flight 77 hit the building.

And now the news that the person responsible for that attack is gone.

It’s pretty amazing.

Surreal.

Knowing that I was in DC, my friends were texting me by the bushel.

My favorite text said that Donald Trump was demanding Osama's death certificate.

The reaction from inside The White House was historic.

The reaction from just outside The White House was beyond words.

If I didn’t have to be an alert chaperone in just a few hours, I would probably be there.

If I had a car, I know I would be there.

But the good news is I will touring inside that White House later this week.

At least that was the plan.

It’s been the plan for a few months.

When we first got the approval.

Um, so much for those best laid plans.

I’m guessing that all changed tonight.

Don’t get me wrong, this breaking news is beyond more important than any single stop on our tour. 

But selfishly I wish this news would’ve come out after our visit.

This is just a guess.

But my guess is The Obamas won’t be entertaining any visitors this week.

Like everyone else in this great country of ours, I will never forget where I was on the morning of 9/11.

I got a call at home that morning.

Very early that morning at my home in California.

My friend Erik said turn on the TV.

I said what channel.

He said it doesn’t matter.

I will also never forget where I was when we got this news.

Standing outside the elevator on the 4th floor of our hotel.

Just miles from the West Wing.

Literally seconds earlier I had checked to see if President Obama would be at the White House this week.

And I had just learned that answer was yes.

Then within seconds one of the chaperones told us to turn on CNN.

Now we all know why.

I’m still hoping we get that chance to visit The White House.

But just being in Washington DC this week is what we we all remember.

Forever.

No House. No Rising Sun.

It looks like a movie.

A horror movie.

The images are surreal.

But they are real.

Too real.

The destruction is unconscionable.

One tragic scene more unbelievable than the next.

8.9.

The size of the earthquake that shook Japan.

But rocked the world.

The pictures we have seen are like no other.

No other we have seen.

Since Haiti.

Or the Indian Ocean.

Impossible to imagine.

To imagine the true impact of what we have seen.

Again.

Lives lost.

Thousands.

Maybe tens of thousands.

Cities washed away.

In seconds.

The power of the tsunami.

Creating scenes no one can comprehend.

Washing away everything.

Everything in its way.

Buildings falling.

Falling like they were built on popsicle sticks.

Cars looking like hot wheels.

But they were real.

This was real.

The image of a person.

A real person.

Waving a white flag.

Or towel.

Reaching out of the window.

From the highest point of what’s left of their building.

Looking for help.

Any help.

An image I won’t soon forget.

An image that reminds me of the past.

There are too many tragedies from the day of 9/11.

Too many tragedies to think of just one.

But when I think of the people at the top of the building.

Having no choice.

No choice but to surrender.

No choice but to give up.

No choice but to jump.

100 floors.

Or more.

That is more than I can handle.

Helpless.

We have all felt it.

We think.

But most of us have felt no such thing.

Not like what we have seen from Japan.

Their pain hurts.

Hurts us all.

Their hurt.

Hurts like no other.

But the hurt I feel.

I’m feeling from my home.

From the comfort of my home.

We can text to help.

And many of us have.

Like we did for Haiti.

And we will for someone else.

Earthquakes.

California has been waiting for the big one.

A big one came in 1971.  And 1989.   And 1994.

And it went.

It took lives.

It destroyed buildings.

But it went.

And someday, this too shall pass.

It may be another generation.

Another generation or more.

Another generation before these events become a part of Japanese history.

For now.

And for many years from now.

It will be present.

In the present.

But each day seems to bring worse news.

Worse news than the day before.

Reports of a thousand bodies washing up on shore.

Another explosion at the nuclear power plant.

Families left to wonder.

Wonder if they will see their family again.

I reached out to my friend.

Whose wife is from Japan.

She has spoken with her family.

And her family is safe.

Thankfully.

But not all stories end that way.

Many stories end.

End with the end.

If the Japanese people want to believe.

Want to believe this is the end.

The beginning of the end.

They have every reason.

For now, we have no way to understand.

To understand what has happened.

Or why.

Again.

Ground Control

At about 1:15pm Saturday afternoon, I was riding the C train from Penn Station to Ground Zero on the ninth anniversary of the day that changed the world forever.

I was one stop away from my destination when the doors opened, three men, dressed alike, busted into our train and started screaming.

Honestly, before I could process anything they had said, they had successfully scared the hell out of me.

(And I would imagine everyone else on the train).

I must admit that the idea of visiting the area where the World Trade Center was attacked is still a bit nerve wracking.

Visiting the area where the World Trade Center was attacked ON September 11 is downright eery.

But as I stated before, visiting Ground Zero on 9/11 was something that I felt I had to do. 

As for the three men who joined our train.

Well, as they came on, they shouted something like, “we are not here to cause any trouble, we are here to entertain.”

Then, within five seconds, which felt like five minutes, they turned on a boom box and did an amazing acrobatic meets gymnastic meets break-dancing exhibition.

All while the subway was in full motion.

At the end of the routine, they politely said if anybody wanted to donate money, it would be much appreciated.

Their routine included a series of flips and leaps and jumps, all in the narrow aisle of one subway train.

All with the train at full speed.

I don’t know if they caught anyone else off guard, maybe this happens all the time in New York.

But considering I had already psyched myself up for the scene at Ground Zero, I was definitely not prepared to see a dance routine -- as amazing as it was.

When I got off my train, I walked down Church Street towards the World Trade Center area.

I barely made it half a block before I was greeted by controversy.

The story of the Islamic Community Center/”Ground Zero Mosque” was definitely the hot issue in lower Manhattan.

There were protesters from both sides exchanging very heated words to anybody who would oppose their position.

And in some cases, some people who were on their side.

There was a two-hour rally hosted by a far right conservative group that opposed the building of a mosque so close to Ground Zero.

The rally was attended by thousands of people, hundreds of media and hundreds of others, like me, who had nothing better to do.   

Considering all the flip cameras I saw, I’m sure you can watch many versions of the rally on youtube.

If you have nothing better to do.

As you might imagine, the crowd on both sides of this topic was incredibly passionate.   

I saw dozens of heated discussions/arguments, but fortunately I did not see one physical altercation.

At one point, I noticed a man getting handcuffed and moved into the back of an NYPD police car.

But considering how many people were there and how many of those people were screaming at each other, that’s an incredibly low number.

At the end of the rally, the conservative group had to walk out of their venue and directly past a group of people with completely different beliefs.

There was a recipe for disaster and I was standing literally in the middle of it.

For a moment, actually several moments, it felt like a riot would start, but the true authorities moved in very quickly and moved everyone out.

They used police on horses, on mopeds, on feet, in cars, whatever it took.

And they did a great job.

After things settled, I spoke with one of the members of the NYPD, the one dressed in suit and tie, and I told him his people did an amazing job of being patient.

Which they did.

He said thanks, but then expressed that his fellow officers are the only ones that have not had a chance to grieve since 9/11 and that they were flat out exhausted.

The good news is there was no riot. 

Being right in the middle was quite an amazing experience and while I don’t share the passion of either side, I definitely respect the right that people have to voice their opinion.

I did not know anyone killed on September 11, 2001.

I did not live in New York at the time.

There is no way that I can truly connect with those that did.

But for one day, being surrounded by people who believe in something, even if its something that I may not believe in, was an experience that I won’t forget.