I had a hard time writing a Facebook status about 9/11 today. I wanted to be accurate, but I didn’t want to invite argumentative nonsense. I finally went with
Renewed anger and sadness as I remember 9/11 and its aftermath.
I am sad. Almost 3,000 innocents said goodbye to their loved ones that morning for the last time. Hundreds more died in heroic rescue efforts. Thousands more were injured, many permanently.
I am angry. Whatever else is true of President Trump, I am confident from his words and actions that the United States is again at war with radical Islamists who lust for American blood. We must continue working to make the punishment for spilling it in the name of Allah so severe that no one would dare it.
And, your bonus, BoWilliams.com emotion—I am irritated. Too many of us now hem and haw and fret and fuss about what happened that terrible Tuesday morning, particularly in the context of how to explain/teach it to those who weren’t alive or are too young to remember. Our children are among those. Lea was seven months’ pregnant with our first.
It’s not a pretty story, but neither is it a complex one. And I can assure you that both of our sons have a clear understanding of what happened the morning of September 11, 2001.
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