Eleven is the number of excess. Ten was complete. An article on the 11th anniversary of the 9/11 reports that many of the commemorations this year are scaling back, allowing for a more personal observance, that the country is perhaps experiencing "emotional fatigue." http://www.nytimes.com/2012/09/11/nyregion/this-year-some-towns-are-scaling-back-9-11-memorials.html?hpw.
Yet,
Eleven is the atomic number of sodium, an essential element for all animals. Na, not N/A.
And,
Eleven is the usual cycle from sunspot to sunspot. Eleven is the number of players on a soccer field, a football field, too.
And,
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| Kairos |
Eleven is the age of my oldest son. He wore a suit this saturday evening, and a tie. He left the car and walked into a crowd of children, dressed equally formally, to attend his first Cotillion, to become a fine young man one day, to learn to shake hands properly, to make eye contact, to dance?
Eleven is crucial. We don't get to skip it. We don't get to skip steps. Before, he had funny words for things. popcorn was "likalookalo" and Gammy was "minya". Soon, he will be the first of my children to outgrow me. Today, he stands head to my chin, at the cusp of the roar of teens. A little silent.
Time rushes at us like a galloping horse. Stand still. Stand still. Wait. Do not close your eyes. The ground beneath you is trembling.
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