I worked in Manhattan for more than a dozen years. Paula and I live 10 miles from the city. We lost friends and acquaintances. I just happened to be off that day and was painting our TV room in anticipation for a family reunion on the coming weekend. The phone didn't stop ringing and every time we reassured someone on the other end of the line, we thought of another person we needed to check on. The cycle of wakes, funerals, debate and recovery never seemed to end. Not sure it every will.

Zach was 2 1/2 when the Towers Fell. Luke had yet to be conceived; he arrived 9/9/02. Coincidence? Hmmm... Now here we are 10 years later and we are trying to get through it all. And now it includes the kids. Zach is getting a better understanding of the issues and the impact of what the past decade has had on us, on our region, our country and our world. Luke remains blissfully removed from it all.

So Paula and I find the place where we have frank discussions with Zach and talk about our emotions while making sure that the facts don't get jumbled in the jingoism of regional/national pride. But as a journalist living in this region, we have commissioned so many stories, so many opportunities to let people share their memories on the past, present and future of our 9/11 world that our boys have seen me shed more than a few tears and I believe that it's our job to never hide the facts and emotions that go into acknowledging this important part of our world.