09/11/2026
Let’s have a heart to heart, kiddo.
It’s September 11, and every year on this day I always take some time to reflect.
I grew up just on the other side of the river from Manhattan. And I have so many memories of standing across the river and looking at New York City and those two majestic towers, standing tall at the southern end of the island. From time to time, I will come across an old picture of me with the skyline behind me and the towers still visible, and my heart will ache just a little bit.
After the towers came down, I remember going home and the first time I saw the skyline, I lost my breath. I could FEEL the loss of them. It was like seeing a family portrait with one person missing. Something didn’t feel right. And it never did after that.
I remember walking the streets in my hometown and all the shop windows were papered with photographs of the lost, the missing. Loved ones that would never be found. There was a heaviness in the air. It lingered for a long time.
People were angry, tensions were high, it was a painful, painful time. And a lot of people wanted someone to blame—so they turned to people who looked like the people they saw on the news. Whose names sounded similar, who came from the same place. Seeing the backlash toward that community was heartbreaking.
But what I also remember…was the love.
This feeling of community— where people slowed down, took their time, and were kinder and gentler with each other. I was proud to be an American then. That’s what I thought America was supposed to feel like.
I don’t know what happened, and I can’t pinpoint when it did, but that has changed. We are suspicious of each other, trying to read someone’s intentions and motives and beliefs, just by looking at them. We’ve lost sight of each other, and of ourselves.
We lost the love.
I hope, deep in my heart, that it’s not too late to get it back. I gotta believe that it isn’t. Because the alternative is just too hard to bear.
I love you, kiddo. ♥️