The 3,650

The 3,650

Can you remember what you had for lunch last Wednesday?

How about the last time you stopped and just appreciated where you were, who you were with and why you were there?

Can you remember what it felt like to wake up on Sept. 11, 2001 and know, for the first time, that the enemy was among us?

I can. It was in a hotel room in Lakeland, Fla. I had flown in the night before to meet the new bosses at Primedia, where I was the editor of Circle Track magazine. Of course, the meeting was set for 9 a.m., so I was in early and missed the initial reports.

That changed about 20 minutes into the get-acquainted session. The new bosses did the right thing: they got the business they needed out of the way and let everyone go watch.

I know this is a NASCAR site and I should be talking about what’s going to happen at Richmond, the Chase, etc. But this is a part of Americana, and NASCAR fans are pro-American and proud of it.

So I’ll talk about 9-11 instead.

I ended up driving back to North Carolina with David Bourne, editor of the late, great Stock Car Racing magazine, in a rental car. First, though, we had to return my car to the airport. Tampa was out, so we went to Daytona Beach.

I’ve never felt so…unsure. I knew that my family was safe, and the attacks were the one shot the terrorists (that’s right, the terrorists) had to fire. Still, it had struck home and it brought down the iconic Twin Towers. That scared me, but it also ticked me off.

In my wild and careless youth, I had ridden the PATH trains from New Jersey to the WTC to go slumming in the lower end of Manhattan. One day, I was waiting on a couple of friends to meet me (they came in on a different train) and I walked up to the lobby of WTC’s South Tower.

I never thought about that building, where I was standing, would be a smoking pile of concrete and steel a few short years later.

If you had asked me that day what should be done, it would have devolved to four-letter words and an intense interest in rigorous application of thermonuclear devices. As one of my favorite authors, John Ringo, likes to say, “Turn the region into a glass-top parking lot and send the Marines in to paint the lines…”

Fast-forward 10 years, and the feeling still comes back at odd times.

On Sunday, it will be 10 years--3,650 days--since that terrible day. I will be elsewhere, probably with my wife watching my daughters ply their softball skills. At 9 a.m., however, I will stop what I’m doing, take my hat off and remember. I will ask God to bless and keep those who perished that day, those who left loved ones behind, those whose lives were torn apart in a calculated, coordinated attack on what it means to be an American.

If you’re of a mind, feel free to join me.

Moving on…it’s down to the nitty-gritty for about 10 drivers tomorrow night at Richmond. Who comes out the other side in the Chase, and who spends the rest of the season racing for wins and relevance?

If I had to put money on it, I would say the 14, the 88 and the 11 will hold serve. Of course, I won’t put money on it, but if I had to…that would be my choice.

Be safe, root for your favorite driver and enjoy NASCAR for the weekend. But a small period of remembrance might help too…