What a nice weekend we had that September.The weather was clear and warm.My oldest son, who had just graduated from high school, gave me a spontaneous, unsolicited hug.I drove our younger son and his buddies to the beach.They were just entering high school, and were taking stock of the companions that they would have during that definitive time of social and educational development.Ok, they were scoping out all the girls. But we were all healthy, and life was good.

On the following Tuesday, my alarm went off with a popping sound, interrupting a good dream, and replacing it with a nightmare.“We are just receiving word that a plane has crashed into one of the towers of the World Trade Center.”I pictured an errant Cessna on the losing end of that matchup, and went downstairs to make breakfast.When I turned on the television, I heard someone say, “There’s another one!”

And with that we knew that this was an intentional act of terrorism.The kids wandered in as they woke up, and were quiet as the gravity of the situation sank in.We didn’t even know yet that another plane had flown into the Pentagon, or that one was missing over Pennsylvania.And then the towers fell.

We were all horrified.There’s no other word.They began to cover the crash in Washington.I pictured my late mother in her mid twenties, striding through those very walls of the newly constructed Pentagon.She had been head of the pool of legal stenographers for a time before she joined the Navy.I really wished I could talk to her.I called my 84-year-old dad, who was in fragile health.I was afraid that the terrorism would break what was left of his heart.He felt the need to talk, and told me in great detail where he was when he had heard the news of the attack on Pearl Harbor, one week before his 25th birthday.Although he could barely walk, he gave me a glimpse of the “Greatest Generation” when he mused out loud, “I wonder if they could use an old lieutenant today…”

It’s been eight years since the attacks of 9/11/01.We have youngsters in the family who have no memory of that day.But we recount that time, we should tell more than the story of the towers, the Pentagon, and the field in Pennsylvania.We need to remember the violation, the sorrow, and yes, the anger.We need to recall the heroes, the tributes, the sacrifice, and the brotherly love.If we remember these things, we show respect for each other.And I’m afraid that’s something we are beginning to forget.

Patty Luzzi has lived on the Eastside for 31 years. Readers can contact her at pattyluzzi@yahoo.com.