Born in 2003

If you were born in 2003, you arrived in a year when America crossed a threshold it would spend decades reconsidering. In March, the invasion of Iraq began with the "shock and awe" bombing campaign—the green night-vision footage of Baghdad on fire playing on every screen while the White House promised the campaign would be quick, successful, and pay for itself in oil revenues. The statue of Saddam Hussein was pulled down in Firdos Square with American assistance.

But by summer, the insurgency was gathering and "Mission Accomplished" on the carrier deck was already looking premature. The year's other story was SARS—a respiratory virus moving through Asia and reaching North America, the first pandemic fear of the new century, though it was contained before it reached American scale. *Finding Nemo* was the summer film and the theater was full of children saying "Just keep swimming.

" *Lost in Translation* was the small film everyone loved. Beyoncé released her first solo album. The iTunes store opened in April and the idea of paying for a single song—ninety-nine cents—was suddenly the future.

MySpace launched in August and social networking began. The Concorde made its last flight. A gallon of gas was $1.

73 but rising. The country was stretched—at war on two fronts, grieving its pre-9/11 self, spending on credit, and trying to keep the ordinary pleasures of American life intact.