September 11 is a special day in our family. Its annual arrival occurs this week and I look forward to it. For many, Sept. 11 is the anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center in New York City. That was in 2001 and I remember it very well.

At the same time, I remember Sept. 11, 1955, just as clearly. My sister was born on that day and was the perfect complement to a family that had a hard-working daddy and momma plus two hard-headed, but fun-loving boys. I was soon to be 6 years old and my brother was almost 8. I can’t speak for him, but I had no idea what was going on.

I might have noticed momma’s bulging stomach, but still, what did that mean to a young boy who had no idea about the birds and the bees. As far as I knew, the stork brought babies into families and I had not seen one of those long-beaked and lazily flying birds flying around Stagecoach Road.

Kathy was born in the Mitchell County Hospital in Camilla. So was I, although I don’t remember it. During the day of that September 11th, somebody took Keith and me to the hospital, but back in those days they held firmly to the rule that kids could not visit patients in hospitals. We knew that something had happened to our family, but what was it?

Once again, the naiveté of America in the 1950’s is hard to imagine these days. On this day, September 11, 1955, I can’t speak for everyone, but Lynn Roberts was very, very innocent. What a wonderful feeling!

The Mitchell County Hospital, at that time, had only one floor and my brother and I were directed to the room in which my mother was staying. Neither of us was tall enough to see inside the room without help from the other. So he held me up to window and then I held him up and we looked inside.

My mother saw us at the window and happily held up our newborn sister. It must have been soon after the birth and we were very surprised. She was red! I understand that in today’s world, the Washington Redskins’ name is unpopular with some. It is considered a negative in its connotation as it relates to the Native American Indian culture.

It’s my opinion, and it might not be a good one, but it’s still mine. I think we go all around our elbows to get to our noses to be offended. Names, flags, songs, jokes, symbols of all kinds are conjured up to be negatives or “racist.” Pretty soon, we may all be wearing solid colored clothing that can be as nondescript as possible. I don’t know what color will be politically correct, but if we keep being offended we may have to resort to our birthday suits. From what I see these days, myself included, that really will be offensive!

Anyway, back to September 11, 1955. My brother holds me up and I hold him up and the general consensus after our viewing is that “Our mother has given birth to an Indian!” I have laughed about that ever since. There’s been 59 years of joy for our family because of the birth of my sister.

That was one September 11th that I remember. It’s the more pleasant, I can assure you.