At twenty-five years, Patriot Day is still our newest day of remembrance. Most of the population who experienced it, or learned about it through the media, are still around today. It is as much on the minds of many Americans today as was Pearl Harbor or the Challenger Disaster for those generations.
In New York, Pennsylvania, and the Pentagon, ceremonies will be held to honor those who did not go home that day. Also honored are the individuals who ran into crumbling buildings or forced their way into a cockpit to stop further deaths.
Everyone remembers where they were when they heard about the attacks. This is a day of mourning for many, as it should be. It should also be a day to remember not just the attacks and what we lost, but our response and what we gained. For my family, Patriot Day has always had an additional aspect. My son, Steven, was born on September 11th. I was stationed at the Pentagon. That’s the short version.
The long version is that I was a staff officer assigned to A4 Logistics. It was my second year. We were in the middle of consolidating the various service fuel budgets into one. As part of that, I was just starting to work out of the Defense Energy Support Center (DESC), establishing the Air Force Petroleum Office. The goal was to consolidate and streamline the purchasing and delivery of jet fuel and other petroleum products throughout the DoD, now DoW once again.
At 5am that morning, my wife, Kayoko, and I went into the nearest military hospital (DeWitt, since we lived in Springfield, VA) on Ft. Belvoir. It was a little early, and I had to call and cancel a 9am appointment with the Pentagon Legal Office. I was supposed to go in and retrieve the needed paperwork so I could change my will to reflect the impending addition to our family.
Shortly after the call, while Kayoko was in active labor, a nurse rolled in a TV cart, telling us about the first attack. She plugged it in, and we watched live the second strike on the World Trade Center. Within a few minutes, I spoke with my teammates at the Pentagon and at DESC, trying to wrap our heads around this. Shortly after that, the lines went down at the Pentagon.
Steven was born that afternoon at 2:13pm. Three hours later, I was carrying Steven around the ward, singing to him and watching the news. Kayoko was taking a well-deserved rest. She was awesome!
When we arrived at DeWitt, we were alone in Labor/Delivery. By five o’clock that evening, there were five other Moms in the unit. Another baby was born that night and the others arrived the next day. If memory serves, I believe eight babies were delivered that week. Once it was deemed safe and security relaxed, I took Steven in for the traditional Meet and Greet. What I did not realize was how many people had heard the tale of his birth and just had to see him in person.
Just to make it clear, Air Staff was not located in the section that was hit. It had just been renovated and the Army and Marine Corps staff assigned there were just beginning to move back in. Casualties were far less than they could have been. 125 military and civilian personnel was more than enough.
So, what’s the lesson here? In my opinion, life goes on regardless of our plans, wishes, or anything else. It was absolutely unreal to celebrate and raise a brand new human while planning fuel support for the attacks in Afghanistan. As mentioned earlier, I wasn’t the only one in that position. I suppose that’s the lesson we relearn after Pearl Harbor, Challenger, and a host of other times life and death get so intertwined.
Kevin, Steven, and big brother Jason
It’s twenty-five years later and now I’m a sixty-year old grandpa. Hopefully, I’m smart enough to remember that lesson and keep learning new ones. So should all of us.
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