Just listened to Savannah, my eleven-year-old, tell Barrett and Charlotte all about September 11, 2001.
In exceptional and accurate detail.
She even recounted things that I had forgotten, such as the third plane that crashed into the Pentagon.
And the fourth plane, that attempted to crash into the White House, but was thwarted by the bravery and heroics of the passengers on that plane; all of whom died when they managed to divert the plane and crash-land on an open field.
I was quite proud.
Proud of the 6th grade teachers who obviously presented a wonderful memorial and tribute, and gave a lesson that the students remembered.
Proud of Savannah for listening, and taking a very sad lesson into her heart. Proud that she became a little teary during her recitation of something that happened when she was just a 6 month old baby.
Proud of Charlotte and Barrett for listening, and for trying to understand events that transpired years before they were born.
As for me, I remember that day, eleven years ago. My darling sister Steph was holding and playing with Savannah, and suddenly shouted to me to come downstairs. I could not believe my eyes. I made it to the TV just in time to see the second plane crash into the tower.
Utterly in shock and disbelief, Steph and I just sat there, holding Savannah between us, crying and trying to understand what we had just witnessed.
I'll never forget that morning.
It made me happy, if that can be possible, to hear the events of that day retold by my daughter, and to hear the new generation of children understand, in their own way, and on their own level, the solemn importance of such a tragedy.
God bless the USA.
