Twenty-five years is a long time. A quarter of a century. And yet, I think I speak for most people when I say it doesn’t feel like 25 years ago. That wound is still fresh. I suspect it always will be for those who lived through it. We will never forget.
But 25 years later, we also have to think about those who were not there. A generation has now grown up in a post-9/11 America. Many of the children born after that day have graduated college, entered the workforce, and have even started families of their own. September 11 is not something they experienced. It is something they know only through the stories of others.
Although it is an imperfect comparison — there are no true comparisons, after all — I sometimes think about Pearl Harbor.
How many of you were alive for that infamous day? A quarter century after Pearl Harbor was 1966. How about then?
On December 6, 1941, the world was already at war, even if America had not yet entered it. Europe and Asia were engulfed in conflict, and our country was still in the throes of the Great Depression.
September 10, 2001, felt different. America was at peace. Then, in a single morning, everything changed.
I was born about 50 years after Pearl Harbor. I know what happened. I know when it happened. Every December 7, I usually spend a few moments thinking about it, admittedly often because a documentary or television special reminds me. But is that enough to truly remember it?
How do we pass on the memory of September 11 to a generation that was not there? How do we pass on “Never Forget?”
That is a difficult question.
But it is also one that I believe this community has answered better than most.
You start by telling them.
Tell them where you were.
Tell them how you heard.
Tell them what you saw.
Tell them what you felt.
Tell them about the heroes from that day. Lord knows this town has heroes worth telling them about.
Tell them about the days and weeks and years that followed. Tell them about the loss, the grief, and the anger. But also tell them about the sense of community, the feeling of national unity, and the determination that slowly emerged from the confusion and heartbreak.
Around here, September 11 isn’t just history. It is neighbors. It is friends. It is family.
Show them.
Take them to Lower Manhattan. Let them stand where the Twin Towers once stood. Let them read the names carved into the bronze. Let them visit the museum built to preserve the memory of that day. Then let them look up at the Freedom Tower — that unmistakable reminder that you can knock us down, but you cannot keep us down.
Show them the faces of the 343. The 23. The 37. The 2,977.
Memory has a way of fading. That is what time does. Every year there are fewer people who remember that Tuesday morning firsthand. One day there will be none.
“Never Forget” asks us to fight an almost impossible battle. Forgetting is what people do. Time demands it. Remembering takes work.
We remember by telling the stories.
We remember by returning to the memorials.
We remember by saying the names.
These are our stories now. Someday they will be someone else’s. It is our responsibility to make sure they keep being told.
Never forget.
