My oldest daughter and I were dancing, blissfully unaware of any world tragedy, the day the planes crashed into the World Trade Center.  Tchaikovsky was sifting out of our CD player, and she was working on her arabesques when a teary-eyed friend came to the door to tell us the news.

It sapped the dancing spirit right out of us.  For the rest of the day we sat huddled in front of the televison–an unusual circumstance in itself–and tried to get our minds around the fact that this could actually happen.   She doesn’t remember much of it now except the pictures of the crash.  That’s more than enough.  She’ll never forget it.

As for me, the initial shock never really wore off.  During the past few years, it has solidified into utter disgust with hate crimes of every kind.  And although I know they occur, I am always surprised when I hear about them or read about them.  They just don’t make sense.   

Take the internet headline this morning describing how a 23-year old black woman in West Virginia was tortured for a week.  Take the extremist actions of a few (I hope a very few) of our oversees soldiers, who have committed hate crimes of their own against the very people they were sent to help and to protect.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not saying that it’s wrong to be in Iraq right now.  I’m saying that hate crimes, wherever or however they are committed, make every situation worse.  And I hope with all my heart they never occur in North Dakota.

I know on some level I’m still blissfully naive.  I still believe the world will be changed for the better one heart at a time.  I still believe that people saying kind things to others means something, especially when the differences between them are obvious.  I still believe in heroes.  And I believe they walk among us.

The trick is learning how to be heroes ourselves.  Kindness has to start somewhere.