Seven years ago this week, my son came into this world. And seven years ago today, America was attacked by dastardly forces on our home front.

I will never forget two dates this week. On the 9th of September, 2001, my son was born. It was one of the happiest days of my life. So sweet...so innocent...a miracle of God.

Two mornings after he entered this life, I was woken up by my then wife as I slept next to her and the baby in the hospital suite.

A plane had hit the World Trade Center in New York City. What the HECK?? How does a plane hit the World Trade Center? Drunken pilot? Heart attack afflicted pilot? What could result in such a tragic accident?

I was still rubbing the sand out of my eyes when we witnessed the second plane hit the second tower. It wasn't a small plane, as I had imagined. Three things crossed my mind in rapid succession. First, how could TWO planes ACCIDENTALLY hit such monstrously tall towers? And then, this COULDN'T be an accident. Followed by, that was a HUGE commercial plane, not the small private plane that I had imagined the first plane being.

And then...it all hit me...WE WERE UNDER ATTACK.

I said it in those exact words.

I remember looking down at our sleeping son and feeling a sickness in the pit of my stomach.

Most people remember where they were when they got the phone call or watched or heard the news updates.

In my case, I was the one who did the informing. I called up the first people that came to mind...my producer...my close friends...my parents.

I remember telling them "We are under attack" and hearing the gasps of disbelief on the other end of the phone.

I remember how none of it seemed real. Like I was playing the part in some strange movie that could only be screened from the darkest recesses of my brain.

It took days to sink in. I wept. And then I wept again.

It's hard to imagine that seven years have passed by already. On the one hand it seems like it happened much sooner than that. And on the other, it seems so long ago.

Yesterday my son who was so tiny in his hospital blanket took off down the street in his brand new bicycle that we bought him for his seventh birthday.

He still doesn't fully understand what happened that day. Nor do I want him to, actually. His older siblings have a better idea and his younger siblings are completely in the dark.

The time will come when they WILL be fully informed. And they will be taught by us and constantly reminded of the fact that 9/11/2001 was one of the most pivotal and dark days in their nation's history.

And they will be taught, above all else, to never, ever forget it.

Please don't forget that horrific and historical date. Think about it, long and hard, today. Talk about it with whoever you are able to. See it. Feel it.

Pray hard.

And weep if the tears come. Weep. And feel that inner resolve and toughness that lies within all Americans.

Good WILL win over evil.
That is the ultimate reassurance if there ever was one.