In March of 2004, I made a week-long trip to Arizona, for a good friend’s wedding. When I left Atlanta, temperatures had been in the high 60’s and it had been raining for days. I flew into Phoenix, where it was bright, sunny and the daytime temperatures hovered in the low-90’s. At night, it never got below 70. Following the wedding, another friend and I drove to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, where the skies were clear and daytime temperatures were in the 40’s and 50’s. At night, it dipped to near-freezing levels. Following a few more days in 90-plus degree weather in Phoenix, I returned to Atlanta. My return flight had a connection in Detroit, Michigan. The plane landed, only to be greeted by falling snow and temperatures in the low 30’s. The plane had to be de-iced before it could take off again. A few hours later, I landed in Atlanta, where it was 70 and pouring rain.
It has been almost 25 years . . .and I still remember it crystal clearly. It was a Wednesday morning in September and I was on my way to school. I was in the front passenger seat of my parents’ minivan while my father drove. We lived exactly one mile from the school, so it was not a long trip. Typically, we would use the brief drive to talk about what was happening at school that day, but not on this day. On this particular morning, we sat in silence, listening to the radio and waiting... waiting for something to happen half a world away. At that very moment, in Japan, a ballroom full of people was waiting, as well. They watched as the man stepped up to the podium and began to speak. As we arrived at the school came the moment that will live in infamy . . .in my hometown, at least. My father stopped the car at the edge of the sch...
Comments
Post a Comment