OK, little guy. There’s no point sugar coating this so I’ll say it straight. You’re born on kind of an awkward day in history, a day which has come to symbolise a whole bunch of bad stuff. I wish it were otherwise, but that’s how it is.
You were due long before September 11, but like the stubborn little thing you are, you took your time. Your poor mother was so big she looked like she’d swallowed a wombat. Then finally, out you popped. A whopping, healthy, 4.9 kilo boy, born on the fifth anniversary of the world’s worst act of terrorism.
Son, there are some scary images I’m finding it tough to shield you from this week. Believe me, it’s the hardest thing in the world to explain why a bunch of guys flew those planes into those office towers and killed all those people.
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