Reflections on the big day. Hint: it's not a memorial to something that happened 5 years ago.

"Think about what day tomorrow is."

Last night at PG13, Ms. Exasperation happily chided Chino about his plans for Monday evening. "You know what tomorrow is!"

For half a moment I thought I was going to hear (and have to carefully distance myself from) political discussion of 9/11. But the tone was one of fun and celebration, not of sober memory.

"You should watch it with us," she continued.
"You should come with us to Hooters--we can watch it there, " he replied.
"Yeah, but I want to drink, " she said, "and Hooters is too expensive."

I never heard the resolution of their plans--but when I got up this morning I searched the sports pages and found that tonight is the Chargers-Raiders game which is a big deal amoung some. I don't know which side Chino and Ms. Exasperation favored, but it is clear that politics, the war on terror, Osama bin Laden, et. al. are not any part of their plans for today.

Other events were even further from any consideration of memorial services. Harley, one of the managers at PG13, said "Your food's up--you need to run this to table 38." And then, "I'm out of here, Jamie's water just broke."

"Name it after me!" I quickly replied. He chuckled. "Congratulations!" came quickly from others. Harley didn't leave immediately. Ten minutes later he was still rushing around with the same level of focus and activity as he would have on any other evening. That gave me a chance to repair my earlier silliness when he took a minute to wash his hands, "Congratulations--I didn't get the chance before, but my congratulations." "Thanks, " he said smiling, as if to say "you were all right--don't worry about it."

So that left me for the rest of the evening working with Maestro being the manager. This was nothing but positive as the Grey witch was not seen even once the entire evening. Maestro, the GM, was the first guy who interviewed me and an individual for whom I developed an immediate respect. He has the build and focus of an offensive tackle with the decency and kindliness of your favorite High School teacher.

Maestro usually works only during the day and because I work evenings I have seen him only intermittently since I begain waiting tables at PG13. But with Harley (who has been working a couple night shifts a week) having to leave to be there to experience his kid's first squawk, Maesto had to work overtime.

I don't know if it's the male-bonding thing or what but I get along far better with Maestro and Harley than I do with Lady Greymane. While you might expect this, for me it is far from typical. I was raised by women after my father exited the scene due to a heart attack while I was still in diapers. I grew up around women and for many years got along better with women than with men.

And now, for once, I prefer the company of men. Cool.

The evening was largely uneventful--at the restaurant that is. I clocked in early to take a party of seven and was treated to another $3 tip on a $70 check. Other tables were mostly typical. It was a poor night for tips, but not a terrible one, and it was definately better than last Wednesday.

But I wonder if Harley's kid will end up being born on 9-11. No doubt, even before that day was branded into our national psyche, kids born on 9-11 probably had some measure of the "emergency" nature of their birthdays foisted upon them. Then again, maybe not.

But surely now a child born on 9-11, as they grow up and give their birthdate for this and that will find a weird intrusion of this unimaginable event into their lives through no fault or cause of their own. For a child born today, or five years ago, for that matter, it will be almost two decades before they can truly even begin to meaningfully think about what 9-11 meant and to them it will always be something historical, something abstract.

I rather doubt that Harley will name his kid after me. But whatever his or her name becomes, they will have to one day struggle, as I did, to try to understand events that happened around the time of their birth that were painful memories to their parents but mean nothing to the little one who breathes on their own for the first time today.

Congratulations, kid. Welcome to the real world.