I’ve kept this edition of the New York Times from Wednesday, September 12, 2001, in a box in my garage for the last 25 years. Every few years I’ll stumble upon it and take a few quiet minutes to remember the people who lost their lives – and those who lost friends & family – that day. I’ve shown it to the kids when they were younger, and it served as an effective tool to facilitate conversation about that day to children.
I was 23 years old on September 11, 2001. Jilly and I had moved to Pittsburgh a few months earlier. We were both working second shift at the time, and were woken in the morning by friends and family leaving messages on our answering machine checking on us. All the world knew was that a plane went down near Pittsburgh.
We spent the rest of the day glued to the television trying to make sense of the new world we knew was going to be inevitable.
This newspaper has aged and weathered over 25 years, as have those of us who experienced that day. But along with that age, comes a responsibility to acknowledge the past. We can’t look away from history. I have no idea why I’ve kept this newspaper for so long, but I think it must have something to do with making time and space to remember.
