There have been several events in my 29 years that I can remember exactly where I was when they happened. I was in Mrs. Moon's third grade class when my name was blasted over the intercom telling me to come to the principal's office. Not unusual, but all the kids still did the "ooooohhhh!!!" sounds anyway. Meenie was there to pick me up. My mom had been in a wreck. I was sitting in my Pappa's orange recliner watching live coverage when they announced Princess Diana had died. On 9/11 I was at Goody's working the customer service desk, hating my job, when the evil shrew Carol came running from the back to tell us about an "accicental" plane crash. A couple minutes later, we knew otherwise. I remember where I was when I got the call that I was getting deployed- walking across Wal-Mart parking lot in Ada. I left three days later. And sixteen years ago today, I was sitting in Mrs. Blanton's homeroom class when Billy Jo Ames came running down the hall to turn on our tv's. The Alfred P. Murrah building had been bombed and there was complete chaos going on in downtown Oklahoma City. One hundred and sixty-eight people lost their lives that day.
I watched the memorial ceremony this morning and remembered that day like it was yesterday. I looked at the faces of the lives that were lost and thought about who they were - mothers, daughters, sons, fathers, wives, husbands, friends. The kids in the nursery would be in college right now. The young parents would be grandparents. So much potential lost at the expense of two evil, truly evil conspirators.
Sadly, there's no spin on this blog, folks. I usually try to end with a good note, to turn an unpleasant, albeit silly situation into a good one. But it's hard to find good in a massacre. I guess all I can do is just be thankful I wasn't in that building that day and be thankful that the names on the screen today are strangers to me. Even still, I will never forget.