Reason not to celebrate.

I'm old enough to remember. December 7, 1941. Only 6 at the time. In Chicago. My mother had me out. For a walk. In the neighborhood. To see the Christmas decorations. With snow on the ground. Maybe she pulled me. On a sled. When we returned. My father was listening to the radio. Intently. He delivered bad news. I didn't quite understand the significance of it all. Until I was older. But I knew my parents were alarmed. Downright upset. So it must have been some pretty serious stuff. Little did I know. That 60 years later. There would be an attack. Even more significant. On 9/11.  Coincidentally, the same day as my birthday. But I don't celebrate. After all, it's a day of infamy. --Jim Broede