A Reflection On The 20th Anniversary of 9/11

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There is a land of love that I used to visit. It was lush and light. Full of sweet memories and conversations with both of my parents. I would show up there almost daily. In phone calls, text messages, long emails, and as many visits as we could manage. We could talk for hours.

I would recall to my mother how, as an adult, I have discovered I know almost no music from the 1980s. In my childhood she played Motown exclusively. We would laugh together remembering dancing in the dusty living room light to Aretha Franklin or the Temptations. And my Dad’s stories from childhood were always astonishing to me. One I would have him tell all the time happened at his father’s airport. It was kind of a hangout for local men and this odd pair of elderly gentlemen would meet weekly there to play chess, whisper quietly in German, and weep. One had been a member of the Nazi youth and the other was from a Jewish family who left Germany right before the Holocaust. I mean, who else has stories like that?………………………………..