It struck me as rather odd to wake up and go to the kitchen and...not see anything in the paper about what day it is. Yes, we should move on and not dwell on the past. But it seems rather...I don't know.

At band rehearsal Tuesday, during the dead time of setting up the field show, I shot the breeze with the second bass drummer, Alecia. [I spelled her name wrong in that comic I did. Shame is felt.] I brought up how last year, nobody made any mention of 9/11 when the day came. Lorenza and I felt this was a bit odd, and asked Struyk about it. "You have to remember," he said, "That the freshman were in third grade when it happened."

And while Alecia seemed rather annoyed by that statement, because she remembered it all, she also said that...well yeah, she didn't quite comprehend it. I told her of how I remembered it, since I was in fifth grade and at the cusp of understanding it. One thing I recall is that the following day, us fifth graders had a pow-wow on the bus, discussing the event. I look back and marvel at how mature that was.

But then I realized - I was in fifth grade. I was ten years old. How can I really remember what I understood? It's been seven years, and I've grown into a seventeen-year-old who still, perhaps, doesn't understand it. And frankly, I don't think I ever will. I was hit with it as a kid, and that's how I still feel - like a child who will just never be fully aware of what happened. I'm not say I'm ignorant or oblivious, but there's just...something.

Seven years ago...I was ten years old. Seven years ago, the sixth graders were four. I never realized how much of an age-gap there was between us until I said that aloud Tuesday night. Isn't that just so odd? Four more years, I'll be in my senior year of college, and the kids in middle school won't even know what I'm talking about.