25 Years Later: A Reflection on Service and Sacrifice

A 9/11 message for a new generation

On September 11, 2001, Tim McGuire was a 36-year-old Army major, husband and father of four serving with the 82nd Airborne Division at Fort Bragg. What began as an ordinary morning would shape his family and countless others.

25 years later, Tim shared his experience with high school students near his home in Washington state who were not yet born that day. 

For them, 9/11 is history rather than lived memory. In the remarks below, Tim reflects on what he witnessed, the years of service and sacrifice that followed, and how remembering 9/11 is also about how we choose to live.

These are Tim’s remarks, delivered on the 25th anniversary of September 11:

25 year ago today, I was an Army Major, a husband and father of four, stationed at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, serving as a Battalion Executive Officer in the 82nd Airborne Division. And on the morning of September 11th, 2001, I woke up expecting an ordinary day. 

I kissed my wife goodbye and tried my best to slip out of the house at O-dark-thirty for PT without waking my kids—Tommy 9, Maria 7, Erin 5, and Patrick 3. 

After a hard PT workout trying to keep up with young paratroopers, I joined the Officer and NCO leadership from across our brigade for a briefing about our upcoming training deployment to the National Training Center. 

In the midst of the briefing, an intelligence officer came into the theater to let us know that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. A few minutes later, the soldier returned. He told us, “Another plane hit the second tower, and a third has hit the Pentagon.” Then he said something I will never forget: 

“Ladies and gentlemen—we are at war.” 

Within hours, my battalion was installing barricades around critical sites on the installation and manning checkpoints at the entrances to Fort Bragg. School was canceled, and my wife went and picked up our kids. The nation was glued to our televisions, trying to understand what had occurred. We were in shock that our nation had been attacked. 

But we were also in awe of the first responders—and of the courage and compassion we saw from ordinary Americans. 

As an Army officer, my thoughts immediately turned to my soldiers and our mission. What did they need? What were we going to do? What would happen next? 

At the same time, I thought about my wife and our four little kids. I remember realizing that their childhood was going to be different from what I had imagined for them. Within months, I was in Afghanistan for a year-long deployment. That was the first of five deployments, totaling four years. 

For many of us who served after September 11th, the events of that day didn’t last for one day. They became years of our lives. 

We left our families. We missed birthdays and holidays. We watched our children grow up through photographs and Zoom calls. Some of us came home changed. Some didn’t come home at all. 

But we did this with pride and a fierce sense of purpose to protect our country, our families and friends, and our fellow Americans.  During each deployment, I often wished that every American could spend a day deployed.  For they would have seen three things: 

One, the incredible job our servicemen and women were doing. Two, that the vast majority of Afghans and Iraqis were grateful we were there. And three, they would see firsthand how truly blessed we are to be Americans. 

And that brings me to why I am speaking to you today. Most of you weren’t alive on September 11, 2001. For you, it is history. You can watch the videos. You can study the photographs. You can read the accounts of what happened. But I want you to understand something about history. History isn’t just about dates and events. History is about people. 

The nearly 3,000 people who died that day weren’t numbers. They were sons and daughters. Mothers and fathers. Husbands and wives. Friends and coworkers. They had ordinary lives. They had plans for that afternoon, that weekend, and the years ahead. And then there were the people who ran toward the danger. 

Firefighters. Police officers. Paramedics. Emergency workers. 

Ordinary citizens who stopped to help complete strangers. They didn’t know exactly what was happening. They didn’t know what the next minute would bring. But they saw people who needed help—and they acted. 

That, to me, is one of the most important lessons of September 11. Courage is not the absence of fear. Courage is deciding that something else is more important than your fear. 

Those firefighters and police officers didn’t run into those buildings because they weren’t afraid. They ran in because people were trapped inside. The soldiers who deployed to Afghanistan and Iraq weren’t fearless. We had families waiting for us at home. We had children who needed their mothers and fathers. 

We went because we believed that serving something larger than ourselves was worth the sacrifice. And that’s what I hope you take away from today. 

I am very proud of my time in uniform, and I hope some of you will choose to serve in our Armed Forces or as first responders. September 11th is a reminder that freedom isn’t free.  It must be protected and defended by every generation. 

We need great men and women to step forward- to serve, to lead, and to sacrifice when necessary to keep our nation strong and our loved ones safe. 

But whether you choose that path or not, I urge you to embrace the call to serve. 

You don’t have to become a soldier to serve. You don’t have to become a firefighter or police officer. You don’t have to do something extraordinary to make a difference.

 Each and every one of you has unique talents and abilities.   Develop them. Put them to use. Be all you can be—and help others to do the same. Serve your family. Serve your community. Help someone who is struggling. Stand up for someone who is being bullied. Listen when someone needs to be heard. Volunteer. Choose integrity. Do the right thing when nobody is watching. 

Be the person who runs toward a problem rather than away from it. Those choices may seem small. But that’s how character is built. And character is what carries people—and countries—through difficult times. 

Twenty-five years ago, I was looking at September 11 from the perspective of a military officer, a husband, and a father of four young children. 

Today, I look at it from a different perspective. I look at it as a reminder of the responsibility we have to the next generation. And you are that generation. You weren’t alive that morning.

You didn’t see the towers fall or the smoke rising over New York and the Pentagon.  You didn’t see or hear the news reports.  You didn’t watch thousands of young Americans leave their families and go to war. But you can remember. And more importantly, you can decide what those events mean to you. 

Twenty-five years from now, some of you will have children of your own. Some of you may have grandchildren. And you will be the ones telling them about September 11. And I hope you tell them more than what happened. 

I hope you tell them what we learned. That courage matters. That service matters. That sacrifice matters. That our differences are far less important than our responsibility to one another. That there is much more that unites us than divides us. And that when things get difficult, ordinary people are capable of extraordinary things. 

Today, we remember the nearly 3,000 people who lost their lives. We remember the firefighters, police officers, paramedics, and civilians who ran toward danger. We remember the families who lost husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers, and sisters. We remember the men and women who served in the years that followed. And we remember their families, who served alongside them in ways that are sometimes forgotten. 

For me, September 11 will always be personal. I remember being a young Army Major. I remember being responsible for soldiers. But I also remember being a husband and a father of four little children and wondering what kind of world they were going to grow up in. Those children are grown now. And looking back 25 years later, I realize something: 

We cannot change what happened on September 11. We cannot bring back the people we lost. But we can decide what we do with their memory. 

So today, I ask you to do more than remember the tragedy. Remember the courage. Remember the people who put others before themselves. Remember the people who served. And then ask yourself one question: 

What will I do with the life I’ve been given? Because that is how we keep their memory alive. Not simply by remembering September 11, but by living our lives with courage, service, compassion, and a commitment to something greater than ourselves. 

Twenty-five years later, we remember. 

We honor. 

And we will never forget.

Thank you.