ETA: Beautiful, beautiful entry from Chris Cactus, father of the cutest little girl who just started preschool this week, and a teething baby boy.  I had to share.

The world changed seven years ago. I don’t think that’s an overstatement. The world changed.

When they’re old enough I’ll tell my kids my story of 911. I’ll tell them about the blue sky. I’m sure I’m romanticizing it but I don’t think I’ve seen a sky that blue since that day. I’ll tell them about the drive home, the mad dash away from Washington DC, a city scarred by the attacks as well. I’ll tell them about the plume of smoke rising from the Pentagon in my rearview mirror. I’ll tell them about arriving home, finding Beth glued to CNN, and realizing that, despite all the radio coverage I’d heard on the way home, I never imagined there would be actual video of the towers being hit and coming down. I’ll tell them about the brave people on United flight 93 who sacrificed themselves to save others and found their final resting place in a Pennsylvania field. I’ll tell them about the intense quiet as the planes across the country were grounded. I’ll tell them about the heroism of police, firefighters and every day people that made me truly believe in the goodness of mankind. I’ll tell them about the flags that flew everywhere, the pride that swelled, and the kindness that overflowed.

I will tell my children my story of 911 knowing that each one of us have our own stories. That each one of us was somehow impacted. That each of our worlds was either dramatically or subtly changed. And I will tell my children my story of 911 so that it will never be forgotten. Because 911 – the horror, the humanity, the victims, the images, the kindness, the pride – is something that needs to be remembered.