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11 September 2025 – Never, ever forget! – Smiley and 9-11

  • Writer: L. Darryl Armstrong
    L. Darryl Armstrong
  • Sep 10, 2025
  • 2 min read

BETWEEN THE TRACKS – A Book of Short Stories by Darryl Armstrong

AVAILABLE LATER THIS FALL

I am not good at guessing anyone’s age; maybe she is six or seven.

She stood in line behind me, eating a vanilla cupcake with icing smeared across her chin and wearing a massive pair of yellow firemen’s boots. Her Mom is unloading a basket of groceries, including a dozen cupcakes minus one.

The front of her shirt proclaims that September 11th is my and my G-Pap’s birthday. It has a big smiley face reminiscent of the 1970s.

She is wearing a light reddish dress trimmed in yellow with reflective firemen’s tape at the bottom. Her brown hair with blonde highlights is in a ponytail. Her chestnut brown eyes are almond-shaped, and she has a perpetual smile.

“You know, cupcakes with a big old glass of ice-cold milk just can’t be beat,” I say.

She smiles, “Yes, sir.” She wipes some icing away with her sleeve. And takes another bite.

“But what’s with the boots, Smiley? I’m kinda’ finding them a bit big for you.”

Grinning ear-to-ear, she tells me proudly these are just like the boots her Pap-paw wore on 9/11.

“I never knew him.”

“Momma says he smiled a lot and would love me as much as he did his big old dog, Duke,” she’s finishing the cupcake now.

From the corner of my eye, I see her Mom tearing up, as is the cashier.

Mom hands me a tissue, and I suck it up and use it to wipe Smiley’s hands.

“Vanilla cupcakes were G-Pap’s favorite; mine, too!” she smiles again. A front tooth is missing. The smile radiates.

Her Mom tells me she lets her wear these boots on their birthday. He was a fireman who ran in and didn’t come out.

“You know it’s my birthday, too. Momma says that G-Pap would be proud of me and love me bunches. He’s in heaven.”

“I’m gonna be a fireman when I grow up!”

Smiley, her Mom, and I walk out to her truck. I help her load the groceries. Smiley is chattering all the way.

Mom thanks me. I see Smiley whisper something to her Mom. Then she turns to me and says, “Mister, want a cupcake?”

I tear up, “Yes, Smiley, I believe I do.”

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(C) 1994 Dr. L. Darryl Armstrong

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