I am a very happy, easygoing girl. I'm the youngest. That's how we roll.
I try not to take myself or life in general too seriously.
But sometimes I am interrupted in my easygoingness, and it's worth noting, I think.
One day in 1988, after a particularly challenging set of final exams that I was proud of my performance on, I was one of the few remaining students on the University of Rochester campus before the campus shut down for Christmas break.
My dad was the king of bargain travel, and frequently purchased tickets for me on odd airlines that cost $19, stopped four times between New York and Texas, and allowed chickens in the aisles.
Okay - the chickens are an exaggeration, but the rest is true.
Anyway, I had some odd travel schedules for this reason, and I really, really enjoyed my beautiful, empty campus when I left after everyone else.
This is what it looked like when I walked into the library.
And this is what it looked like when I walked out.
Eric Coker, and his twin brother, were gone. So were many of our friends from nearby Syracuse University.
I spent the holidays in shock.
I've spent every year since angry about this.
This, not Osama bin Laden, was my introduction to terrorism. A person I knew - a student at my tiny private school - a school with fewer undergrads than there were students at my high school - was killed by Qadaffi. Or however you spell his name.
So today, I hope that Eric's family finds some comfort, if not peace, in knowing that some tiny amount of human justice sits in the scales. I hope they know we all think of their children today, and have them in our prayers.