A few years ago, just after the tragedy of September 11 (you can read about the experience of my son and I here and here), I was talking with a friend in the men's room (more intelligent work gets done in the bathroom than the boardroom). We were chatting briefly about the impact of such events. He shared with me that there were probably four or five events in his life that left a lifetime impact on him. The tragedy at the Twin Towers was certainly one of them.

Because my ten-year-old son at the time and I were on the tarmac at Ohare International Airport at the time, it left such an impression on us. As today passed, we didn't say much about it until later in the day, and then only briefly. I was reminded that that event was one of those five or six events that he will witness in his life that left a scar of the heart. It certainly did for me. Not only scars, though, but hope. Like the woman who, in that airport so far from home in the midst of an entirely unknown and horrific event (at that point), asked a grown man and a young boy if they any place to stay in Chicago. Like the friends and soulmates, John and Nancy, who took us in and gave a young boy the semblance of safety, even when there was very little to be had.