Never Forget

I woke up this AM planning to write all sorts of pithy things about last nights' game. And Moises Alou. And the Cards and Stros wins. Then I looked at the calendar.

Reality check.

Then I looked at my 364 day old son and saw him smile up at me and waive. He's starting to talk now. He says, "Mama", "Dada", "baaal" (ball), "nanana" (banana), "baahhuuhl" (bottle), and a few other things. It's a skill he's come up with in the last few weeks. He starts downing cheerios and I turn on the TV. His older brother, who turns 4 in a few weeks, asked me about the "splosions" on TV. ABC was showing a new tape showing both planes hitting the World Trade Center. I sloughed it off as I was in no mood to try to explain terrorism, hate, and death before he ate oatmeal.

We're getting on a plane in a few weeks to go see the kids' grandparents in California. I used to love to fly. At my last job, I was on a plane 2 or 3 times a week. Now I get on a plane with my kids and I think of the parents on those hijacked planes and what they told their kids that morning. Did they slough it off like I did? Did they hug them? Did they cry? Did they try to hide their fear? Were the kids crying? Did the kids know what was happening? I can't even imagine.

All I do know is that this morning is not a time to talk baseball. It's a morning to be greatfull that air is filling your lungs. That you have kids that can look up at you and smile. That we're having 28 kids over for a party on Saturday.

And that today is to remember all those that aren't able to enjoy these pleasures (along with some fun baseball) because a group of men decided that the answer to their miserable, unfulfilled lives was to take these pleasures away from 3,000 other people and all their loved ones.

A dropped pop up? Not today.

Chuck