De Rigueur

(Because I'm compelled)

Regrettably, I've worked in the restaurant industry now for almost half of my life. One of the periodic annoyances of the job is the regular visit of the upper muckers. Their title is immaterial; regional vice president, district manager, department head, auditor, it doesn't matter. Nothing puts the fear of your favorite supreme being in a restaurant manager like the visit of the bosses.

So we clean things that haven't been cleaned in months. Employee files are updated, offices are pristine, the A-crew is brought in to work the entire shift. All the things that could be done easily if they were matters of habit become Herculean projects done in panic mode. All for one moment, one visit that often lasts for no more than an hour.

After the visit, we make an effort to keep things tidy for a couple of months, or weeks, or days. But eventually, we return to the old ways, doing the minimum to get by until the next quarterly visit, when panic sets in again.

Today is our nation's annual visit.

And today, people I admire and respect come close to grasping the significance of the event.

[OK, For the next few moments, I'm going to assume I'm right. This is usually an easy task for me, but I understand that it might be a bit of a conceit here. And I'm not putting down anyone's opinion. I suppose I'm just putting mine one shelf higher. Whoops.]

We watch videos of the events, of our reactions to said events. We remember where we were, and how it made us feel, and how for a few moments after what happened, we were a little nicer, a little friendlier, a little bit better. The offices were clean, the floors swept, the fixtures buffed and polished.

I suppose these are all good things. But like almost all changes for the better, they don't stick. It's our nature. We stop jogging, we have another slice of pie, or one last last cigarette, or one more for the road. Old habits always die hard.

And so, in an act that even I think is a bit too morbid (!), we look back on how good things were for a brief moment after things were so bad. But do we really have any intention of keeping things that way? I've said on any number of occasions that I'm going to change things in my life. And every now and then, I start doing things that just might change my existence for the better. But it's the middle of the day, Jerry Springer's still on my TV, there was way too much butter on the toast I just ate, and I can't imagine me going out for a walk after dinner.

For better or for worse, we are creatures of habit. And I can't help but imagine us doing this same thing every year for much of the next century. Until the next generation passes away, 9/11 will still be a current event. And we'll remember the shock, the ruthlessness, the cunning, the brutal simplicity, the simple brutality. And we'll think of how the country came together in those next weeks, the courage and bravery of strangers, the sacrifice of civilian volunteers; how those who are so nameless and so faceless ever so briefly had names, faces, families, friends, pulses. And tomorrow, we'll watch Notre Dame-Michigan, or we'll go to work, or buy a TV, or grill a burger. Evening always comes, morning always follows.

I know what you're thinking (or, more accurately, I know what I'd be thinking if I were you). Any moron with a Republican seat in Congress or an AM radio talk show can be a contrarian. Why not show some grit and come up with something better.

OK.

So we'll always be affected by 9/11. This is a given. But what we all try to take from it is what we did for those short few weeks after the fact. So let's run with that, but with better distribution.

Pick a month, but not the month of your birth. I'll go with... April. Then pick a day in that month with no particular significance to you... the 23rd, in my case (alright, the one of you who knows I'm kind of cheating here. But they're dead now, so it gives my crap-ass memory one more reason to remember the day). Go to your cell phone, PDA, computer, planning software, desk calendar... whatever you may use to schedule your life. On the date you picked, simply write "Remember 9/12".

And then do it. Bake something for your office. Give blood. Serve meals at a homeless shelter. Donate time or money (or both) to the USO. Take the time to do something you haven't done in a while, but the memory of which comes rushing back to you in times of reflection on selflessness, or sharing, or going the extra mile, or just being nice for no particular reason. Something simple. Something small. Something within your means. Something. Anything.

So now we can remember that, in those dark times, we didn't fall apart. We didn't topple, or burn, or crash or fall even though that's what those very few hoped. In those weeks after 9/11, we amazed even ourselves with our reaction. But in our new world, the greatest thing we can do is make that reaction our action.

And if someone asks you why, tell them you're remembering that no matter what happens, the human spirit endures. We are capable of much better good than we are evil. Evening always comes, but Morning always follows.