Say what you want about this post, I really don't care. I was in D.C. the day the terrorist attacks happened and saw with thine own eyes planes going into the Pentagon. Matter of fact, I was originally scheduled to be at work that day, which was real close by, and was just getting ready to be on my way when I heard about the first attack in New York. So yeah, I know all about this day and it's signifance.

But, two years ago, the meaning of 9/11 flipped for me. That was the day I received word my Uncle Jeff was shot and killed in his hometown of Hayward, Ca. The man who taught me how to fight, how to do pushups properly, and how I wouldn't need a fancy gym if I wanted to get "swoll" was gone, shot suicide style by a kid 22-years-his junior.

A 45-year-old man, shot dead, leaving behind three sons, grandchildren, and various other family members who loved him dearly. It was a tragedy in my world; the kid, a terrorist in my world.

So I dedicate this post to all those people who, like me, think of 9/11 as a different day. If it's your birthday, party the day and night away - cake, balloons, drinks, sex, all that shit. If it's the anniversary of a tragedy, mourn the way you want to mourn. Don't let the media, the government, or anyone else tell you what this day should mean because everyone has a story. Some are beginning, and some have ended, but they all deserve to be read.

[9/11]Whatchu know about that?

I know all about that.