Twenty-five years ago today, I sat in Mrs. Binder’s second-grade classroom. I was eight. The television said “New York” and “attacked.” It sounded like something from a video game. I felt numb more than anything else.
We do not forget.
What I did know was that my dad made a weekly run to New York City for Kohler. I did not know how close he was. I did not know if I could reach him. I tried once, then I went to my mom.
She told me he wanted to help. That was who he was. He had been trained—cross-trained, the way many of us were in service—in the basics of a combat medic for dire emergencies. It was not his official title. He simply knew what to do, and he wanted to be there. He took the time to call us. It took some time to get through. He was going to go and help, but those 45 minutes were the difference
I did not yet understand there had been other planes. I only understood the possibility that my father might not come home. I did not have the words then for the questions that followed: How would life have changed? How would I have been raised? Would I have chosen the Army instead of the Navy?
I was scared. I am proud now. His actions that morning were not dramatic. They were simply who he is—a man with a simple plan: help others in need, the same creed we took to support and defend against all enemies, foreign and domestic.
May God bless the fallen. May God bless the children who grew up without their parents after that day, and every family whose life was thrown a curveball they never asked for. And may we remember how a wounded nation chose to stand taller because of it.
We keep going.
We do not forget. We keep going. That is the least we can do.
Kevin Laughrin
Medically retired LSSN, VFA-103 “The Jolly Rogers”
Marketing and Communications Director
www.veteranvalorcoffee.com
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