Our Heroes Remembered on 9/11

We’re a nation of immigrants, Indians, slaves, and misfits. Our nation was born of rebellion, hardship and sacrifice. Our forefathers came on crowded ships without much more than a sack of potatoes. Some came in the holds of slave ships, and some snuck across our borders under the light of the moon. We’re a breed of tough men and women. We’re evangelical Christians, Mormons, Catholics, Hindu’s, Muslims, and Atheists. We fight like hell amongst ourselves, and have acted foolishly many times in our past. We’ve learned many hard lessons and endured unimaginable hardships, but make no mistake about it, we’re Americans. We’re a brotherhood, that when put to the test, have always come through, be it on the battlefields of Virginia, to the shores of Normandy, or the stairways of the Twin Towers. If you think we hate each other, you misjudge us and our character.

On 9/11 the best of us emerged. The best of us stared at the burning towers from a thousand feet below, and climbed up those crowded stairways, facing certain horror and terror and even death. The eyes of the men climbing, are indelibly etched in our memories. And yet, they climbed. They weren’t asking about ethnicity, or race, or color or creed or sexuality. They climbed. They were the sons and daughters of our nation. They climbed. We heard from terrorists who claimed responsibility for the actions. And yet, our heroes still climbed. They didn’t look back. World, take notice, that’s who we are.

Now, ten years later, the mastermind of that horrible day is dead. Brought to justice by more heroes whose names we might never know, and yet they’re probably sitting by the policemen and firemen who died on 9/11 hugging each other. Call it heaven, or earth, or the clouds, or a bar in Manhattan if you’re offended by those possibilities; call it whatever you want, I’m pretty sure they’re all together somehow, in a special place reserved for men and women of honor, where background and beliefs don’t really matter; where heroes reside from all walks of life. People like the Americans that lifted us up on that day of terror, who reminded us where we came from, and who we really are.

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K.W. Bowlin

Southern California native. Passion for history, particularly big, ugly battles. Loves all stringed instruments. Never hit a good 2-iron in his life. Writes like a fiend. Married to his best friend, high school sweetheart and crack photographer Mary, and has four fantastic, grown kids and a Lhasa Apso puppy named Coby.

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