I also told him that I remembered the fall of Saigon in 1975 when I was twelve. I recall my father being very angry. He threw his newspaper down and walked out of the house. “What a fucking waste,” he said as he went. I had never heard him swear like that before.
Ben wrote some things in his notebook. “So on 9/11 you just came home, like Grandpa Garl did?” I nodded my head and said, “Yes. I did exactly like Grandpa Garl did, because in times like that, that’s what you do. You find your family.” Ben said thanks and went off to write his essay.
Ten years later Matthew (now 16) came into the studio where I was working and asked me what I was writing about. I told him. He said, “That’s a tough piece of writing. Crap, how does anyone write about that?” When he went up to bed I asked myself the hard question. Why are you writing about this? My answer to myself is this: “So that no one ever forgets.”
A day that will live in infamy, innocence was lost, and it should never ever be forgotten.