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The Road of Lost Innocence

Add your interests. In , American society entered a grim period of discord and tumult.

Indeed, was a pivotal year for me, for millions of my contemporaries, and for our country. Fortunately, I have learned a few worthwhile things in the decades since.

Cambridge Scholars Publishing. A World of Lost Innocence

I have learned that this world will always be in a perennial battle between good and evil—the tares and wheat—and we owe it to ourselves and others to cherish and emphasize the wheat. But life gives each of us repeated opportunities to do things that make life worth living. Most importantly, I have learned that a merciful and loving God exists and will comfort us with a peace beyond anything this world can provide.

Mark W. Hendrickson is a retired adjunct faculty member, economist, and fellow for economic and social policy with the Institute for Faith and Freedom at Grove City College.

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About the Author Latest Posts. We stood on the corner looking down Greenwich Street at smoke and flames. She left for her newsroom, I watched for a few more minutes, and as I turned to return home, the second plane hit. But I also remember a week later, when television microwave trucks from around the world still stretched down the West Side Highway as far as you could see.

Mario Party 6: Chugga's Lost Innocence - Livestream Highlight

At one corner was a French anchorman, who I gathered was something of a superstar back home. Excited French tourists were bunched around, thrusting their cameras, waiting their turns for a Kodak moment with him. Three and four at a time, he spread his arms around the visitors, grinning broadly and carefully posing everyone to make sure billows of smoke from the wreckage would be prominent in the background. With apologies to France, and thank you for the Statue of Liberty, but I really felt like giving him a punch.

I used to think there should be some vast chalk outline in the sky, showing where the twin towers had been, like the silhouette TV detectives draw of the spot where the murder victim fell.

On the first anniversary, I made the rounds: the tributes at Ground Zero, then a memorial service at the Episcopalian Church of St. I attended a ceremony in Washington Square for the flight crews; doves were released for each of their lost lives. We strolled around the banks of searchlights that created the two bright columns pointing into the sky and as we walked, a woman ran by, smudging the site with burning sage, trying to cleanse it of the evil that had happened there.

The next three years, I went to Ground Zero or attended other memorials, but on the fifth anniversary, when I arrived downtown the scene seemed, sadly, more circus-like.

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Last year, on a train home from Boston, where the two flights that hit the towers originated, I watched the Tribute in Light from a distance, its shafts of illumination piercing the dark above the faraway Manhattan skyline.