I remember September 11, 2001. I didn't need to be American. I didn't need to live in New York, or work in Washington, or know anyone on United Airlines Flight 93. But I remember September 11 all the same.
In September, 2001, Lori was still on parental leave. On that Tuesday morning, Sarah was just shy of six months. Because Lori was at home with our first daughter, I would wake early in the morning and be out the door shortly after six, catching my bus and arriving at the office by 7:00 a.m. When I took the bus to work, I liked to arrive before most of my coworkers would be there; I could often get so much done in my first hour to hour and a half.