On Saturday night, I received a call from my aunt asking me if I could take her two sons, Anthony (12) and Patrick (10), to the Mets game on Sunday.  I gladly said yes.  I picked them up Sunday morning and rode the 7 train out to Shea Stadium.  I was impressed with how much Anthony knew about the Mets and how closely he followed the game.  We discussed the game as it went on, including why the Mets would bring in an inept Guillermo Mota.  Patrick was, as usual, only moderately interested, but appreciated the extra attention and the day out.  It was a pleasant day, and it was great to be able to spend that time with my cousins.

It would seem like a perfectly normal day out for kids of their age but for the fact that it was their cousin rather than their father taking them to the game.  You see, their father was unable to do so.

Six years ago today, he went to work.  He called my aunt to say that he had arrived safely, just as he did every day.  She took the kids to school and went home.  Then their lives changed forever.

The children at school knew only that something was wrong.  They had heard no details and, like everyone in New York who had no idea what was going on that day, they were frightened.  The adults at their school were acting strangely, especially toward them.  Before long, they were called down to the principal’s office where their mother was waiting.  That is when they heard the words that no child should ever have to hear: “Daddy is gone, and I will take care of you.”