On December 7, 1941, America changed forever.
Shortly before 8 AM local time, Japanese forces launched a surprise attack on the military base of Pearl Harbor in Hawai’i. More than 2,400 people were killed as the base was largely destroyed.
The United States had stayed out of the early stages of World War II. But in the wake of this attack, it was clear that such avoidance could not continue.
In a speech the next day, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt referred to December 7th as A date which will live in infamy. He signed a declaration of war shortly thereafter.
American troops would soon find themselves fighting on the shores of Europe and the islands of the Pacific. Their efforts would prove fruitful, as the Allied forces defeated the Axis powers less than four years later. And that occasion was met with wild celebrations in the streets across our nation.
But even though America prevailed in World War II, it didn’t forget what was lost. For years, December 7th was a solemn day. A moment to reflect and to memorialize those taken from us.
Or so I’ve heard.
The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.
It was a staple in our household during my childhood.
On Thanksgiving morning, my sister, my parents, and I would watch on TV as giant balloons were paraded through the streets of New York City. Marching bands and a host of other performers joined in the festivities.
And then, at the end, Santa Claus made an appearance.
I found this all a bit confusing. We hadn’t even had our first bites of turkey and pumpkin pie, but Santa was already drawing attention to the next holiday. It made no sense.
But my parents assured me that this was all by design. Thanksgiving was the start of the holiday season, they stated. Everything from here on out would be focused on Christmas.
And that included December 7th.
I recall precisely zero mentions of the Pearl Harbor attack as that date passed each year. No memorials. No moments of silence. No recognition whatsoever.
I suppose this seemed logical to many at the time. It had been more than 50 years since the Japanese attacked, and our shores had remained secure ever since. The fall of the Berlin Wall had ushered in an era of unprecedented peace. There was little incentive to look back.
Yet, as I advanced through school — and read about the Pearl Harbor attacks in my history textbooks — I started to question this approach.
I heard my teachers stating Those who ignore the lessons of history are destined to repeat it. AndI hoped that wasn’t about to become the case.
It was.
I was a week into my eighth-grade studies when the September 11th attacks occurred.
Amid the feelings of shock and anger, I remember a sobering sentiment of regret that made the rounds.
We should have known that something this terrible could happen, as unlikely as it might have seemed. After all, it had only been a handful of years since a domestic terrorist destroyed a government building in Oklahoma.
So yes, regret was already instantaneous.
But it was a comment on the news that got to me that evening, even as I sat safe and secure at home.
This is the first time the United States has been attacked since Pearl Harbor.
Pearl Harbor. The attack so many of us had refused to memorialize, because it got in the way of Christmas planning.
Maybe if we all had paid a bit more attention to that attack, we’d have acknowledged the grim possibility of this one. We would have been more vigilant, more prepared, and better able to respond.
But no. We buried that tragedy. And now, we found ourselves paralyzed by another.
I felt shame as I considered all this. I felt regret.
And I felt a determination to never let the 11th of September become just another day on the calendar.
For many years, it was hard to forget the events of September 11th.
We saw the cavernous site of the World Trade Center in New York. We navigated through bolstered security at airports, arenas, and other public venues. We lowered our flags to half-staff each year and held solemn memorials.
Where were you on that day and how did you find out about the attacks? was a common line of inquiry when we met new people. Whether we were young or old, from the East Coast or the West Coast, that wretched day was something we all shared.
Even as our national discourse moved on to new topics — a war in Iraq, a financial crisis — we never quite lost the thread of what we’d endured on that sunny September day in 2001. We celebrated the rebuilding of Lower Manhattan and the Pentagon. We honored those lost in museums and memorials.
And then, it all faded away.
A new generation took the fore. One raised in an online world and forged in an era of pandemics and protest.
The events of September 11th were too antiquated for this group. The dangers of America lay in plain sight, not in the schemes of foreign terrorists.
And so, September 11th became just another day. The solemn pageantry became nothing more than background noise.
Our nation moved on. And my mission sputtered.
Or so it seemed.
How do we remember?
The common answers to this question are imagery and stories. A picture of Michael Jordan soaring to the hoop becomes a brand logo, and a cornerstone of our culture. A tale of Greek soldiers stowed away in a giant wooden horse at the gates of Troy becomes a timeless legend.
Yet, even with the recent advancements in technology, imagery and stories have a shelf life. They can fade or get distorted, tainting our memory.
Actions, on the other hand, never lose their luster. The precision of repetition can reinforce recollections. All while providing an example for others to follow.
I believe in a commitment to action, and in honoring my promises. And so, even as the world moves on from commemorating September 11th, I still will.
I will take a moment to honor the memory of those lost. To revisit my own difficult emotions from that day. And to reiterate my pledge to live filled with humility and grace.
It’s worth the somber silence. It’s worth the canceled social events and rescheduled professional meetings.
September 11th is not just another day to me. It cannot ever be that way.
I hope I’m not the only one.