I hesitate to write what I really think and feel about today.

I don’t like that it’s called Patriot Day. I don’t like what the word patriot has come to mean.

Living in Europe the last three years changed my perspective on what it means to be an American. Often embarrassed to be associated with American politics, I dread being considered a loud and arrogant fool that many consider Americans to be. The last couple years, events in the USA have further upset me and my family and we don’t want to fly Old Glory over our garage or wear Old Navy Tshirts with flags.

We’re not proud.

Everyone on social media, TV, the radio is talking about where they were the morning the towers were hit with airplanes.

I was in my classroom, preparing to teach English to 10th graders.

I remember my thoughts flew immediately to my parents, working in the FORSCOM federal government building in Atlanta, then to my daughter, not quite one year old, in daycare.

What would I tell my toddler when she grew older and could understand? What do I tell my four kids?

It was surreal.

I am poignant.

I am so grateful and proud of our first responders. I am so heartbroken with those injured and lost and the families who mourn.

But I’m also angry.

I’m angry at terrorists and our own politicians and officials.

Our nation reacted.

Many flocked to places of worship, embraced family and friends, cried out in sorrow for those lives lost, for families in agony over lost ones.

Too many closed their hearts, expressing hatred for an entire race, nation, religion, blaming anyone and everyone associated with it for a tragedy, an act of terrorism.

Our nation returned evil for evil. We’re still at war.

The events of September 11, 2001, are woven into the American tapestry. It is our history. It affects our future.

Every individual who lived to remember that day has a choice to make. A choice to love and move forward and forge bonds or a choice to hate, fear, and sever ties.