We ate dinner, I fed the dogs and then we drove to our beach. Deerfield Beach. DH and I walked the sidewalk alongside the beach, near the motels where the terrorists stayed in the days before September 11. A balmy breeze was blowing. We then sat on a bench and talked. About September 11. About his day at work. About life, fate, everything.
Then we linked hands, and walked back to our car. It was a healing walk for me, normalcy in a small city where people like us, average Americans, mingle with tourists and people of all nationalities. All faiths. All beliefs.
It felt good, cleansing. I felt like I was taking back my beach. My way of life.
As we sat at a traffic light near where the Panther Motel used to be, a car pulled alongside us. It was filled with kids...a young Jewish guy wearing a yamaka, two girls on cell phones and another guy. Music blared out the open windows. Then they all started singing along, and rocking to the music. And they saw me looking, laughed more, and kept rocking.
They were kids, young, happy, having a good time. It was so damn normal, so American, I wanted to applaud. Then we drove off, and I was grinning. September 11 will forever be stamped in our minds and hearts, and we'll never forget, and we will mourn the dead.
But damn, you'll never take away what is the essential part of us. You can't take away my beach and you won't silence the kids who laugh, sing, have damn FUN doing things American kids do...
You'll never silence us. Never. Ever.