I will always remember exactly where I was that day. Not just what classroom I was in, but the exact place I was standing, which way I was facing, and what I initially thought.
I was in 8th grade. I was a teacher's aide for my favorite math teacher. It was a 6th grade math class and I was in the front of the classroom sitting at a small table. The door was closed. There was a knock at the door and I got up to get it. Our vice principal was at the door. I remember so clearly the look on her face. Panic. Fear. Uncertainty. I knew something was wrong. She called Mrs. Elias to the door and quietly told her that the school was on lockdown until further notice and that there had been an attack. I didn't catch much else, because I was trying to listen in without getting in trouble. Mrs. Elias nodded, looked at me and said "We're in lockdown. Don't say anything to the kids."
I think kids have a 6th sense about these things because someone asked what was wrong the instant the door was closed. Mrs. Elias looked worried. "We're..." She had paused, not really knowing what to say. "We're just on lockdown. Just a drill!" She tried to sound positive. I remember someone asking if there was a shooter in the building. The kids were getting panicked.
The next thing I remember is being in Mrs. Conlan's language arts class the next hour. She let us watch the coverage. I watched the second tower fall. I remember someone saying "We're watching the beginning of World War 3."
I remember being scared. I remember being confused. I remember wanting to rush home, see my mom, and hear her say that everything was going to be okay.
My principal found out teachers were letting their kids watch the coverage. Apparently, he was furious. The tv's were turned off for the rest of the day. At lunch, we talked about what we had seen that morning. One of my friends worried about a plane hitting our little middle school.
My mom came and picked me up. Then we picked my sister up, who was in second grade at the time. We went home and sat, stunned, in front of the tv for hours. The images were seared into my mind. I remember saying 'It looks like a video game. It looks fake."
But it was real. So real. Terrifyingly real.
I remember spending my birthday, September 13, watching the telethon for victims. I remember seeing huge flags flying off the backs of fire trucks, pick up trucks, and car windows. I remember hearing of the influx of people going to the American Red Cross to donate blood. I remember hearing of people from around the country flocking to Ground Zero to help with rescue and recovery.
I remember being terrified the first time I heard a jet plane fly over head when the airspace was opened up days after the attacks. It's taken a while, but I'm finally able to hear that noise without my pulse racing.
As I grew up, got older, and was able to process what had happened, I struggled to wrap my mind around it. The images that make me cry the most are the images of those heros dressed in fireman and police uniforms marching into the burning building. They didn't know what was going to happen. They didn't know that the towers would soon come crashing down on them. All they knew was that they had a job to do and they did it, no matter how scary it was.
There were so much tragedy that day. So many lives lost. I try to focus on the people that sacrificed so much simply because they felt it was their duty. I cannot imagine the amount of bravery, courage, and dedication it took to give up your life for another. So many people weren't even asked, but they became heros regardless. The people on Flight 93 that sacrificed their lives to ensure no more building were destroyed. The people in the Pentagon that pulled people out of the wreckage. The emergency responders that ran straight into that building.
The best thing we can do, as Americans is to never forget. During a time that is so wrought with political dissension, cultural divides, and hard economic times, I think it is essential to remember how we felt as a country in the days following that horrible day. The patriotic pride that had you hanging your old American flag from your porch. The religious awakening that tragedies nearly always bring. The sheer unity of the American people. I wish that we could have that feeling as a country now. 10 years later, I think we've begun to forget how we felt in late 2001.
I was in 8th grade. I was a teacher's aide for my favorite math teacher. It was a 6th grade math class and I was in the front of the classroom sitting at a small table. The door was closed. There was a knock at the door and I got up to get it. Our vice principal was at the door. I remember so clearly the look on her face. Panic. Fear. Uncertainty. I knew something was wrong. She called Mrs. Elias to the door and quietly told her that the school was on lockdown until further notice and that there had been an attack. I didn't catch much else, because I was trying to listen in without getting in trouble. Mrs. Elias nodded, looked at me and said "We're in lockdown. Don't say anything to the kids."
I think kids have a 6th sense about these things because someone asked what was wrong the instant the door was closed. Mrs. Elias looked worried. "We're..." She had paused, not really knowing what to say. "We're just on lockdown. Just a drill!" She tried to sound positive. I remember someone asking if there was a shooter in the building. The kids were getting panicked.
The next thing I remember is being in Mrs. Conlan's language arts class the next hour. She let us watch the coverage. I watched the second tower fall. I remember someone saying "We're watching the beginning of World War 3."
I remember being scared. I remember being confused. I remember wanting to rush home, see my mom, and hear her say that everything was going to be okay.
My principal found out teachers were letting their kids watch the coverage. Apparently, he was furious. The tv's were turned off for the rest of the day. At lunch, we talked about what we had seen that morning. One of my friends worried about a plane hitting our little middle school.
My mom came and picked me up. Then we picked my sister up, who was in second grade at the time. We went home and sat, stunned, in front of the tv for hours. The images were seared into my mind. I remember saying 'It looks like a video game. It looks fake."
But it was real. So real. Terrifyingly real.
I remember spending my birthday, September 13, watching the telethon for victims. I remember seeing huge flags flying off the backs of fire trucks, pick up trucks, and car windows. I remember hearing of the influx of people going to the American Red Cross to donate blood. I remember hearing of people from around the country flocking to Ground Zero to help with rescue and recovery.
I remember being terrified the first time I heard a jet plane fly over head when the airspace was opened up days after the attacks. It's taken a while, but I'm finally able to hear that noise without my pulse racing.
As I grew up, got older, and was able to process what had happened, I struggled to wrap my mind around it. The images that make me cry the most are the images of those heros dressed in fireman and police uniforms marching into the burning building. They didn't know what was going to happen. They didn't know that the towers would soon come crashing down on them. All they knew was that they had a job to do and they did it, no matter how scary it was.
There were so much tragedy that day. So many lives lost. I try to focus on the people that sacrificed so much simply because they felt it was their duty. I cannot imagine the amount of bravery, courage, and dedication it took to give up your life for another. So many people weren't even asked, but they became heros regardless. The people on Flight 93 that sacrificed their lives to ensure no more building were destroyed. The people in the Pentagon that pulled people out of the wreckage. The emergency responders that ran straight into that building.
The best thing we can do, as Americans is to never forget. During a time that is so wrought with political dissension, cultural divides, and hard economic times, I think it is essential to remember how we felt as a country in the days following that horrible day. The patriotic pride that had you hanging your old American flag from your porch. The religious awakening that tragedies nearly always bring. The sheer unity of the American people. I wish that we could have that feeling as a country now. 10 years later, I think we've begun to forget how we felt in late 2001.
Please remember those who died. Honor their sacrifice. Remember that all gave some, but some gave all.
That's what we can do to always remember.
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