"An attack on one is an attack on all."
-- NATO Secretary - General Lord Robertson
-- NATO Secretary - General Lord Robertson
Nine years ago this morning, my eight year-old self got on a yellow school bus which then picked up another child, and another child, and another child. Eventually, once the yellow school school bus was full, it made it's way to the elementary school that I spent just over two years at. That morning, I did my normal schoolgirl socializing with the other third graders, my friends. I avoided the boy I could not stand, Dylan. He was my tormentor, a bully. And he was my next door neighbor.
Once the bell rung signaling time to go in and up to our classrooms, I made my way to Mrs. McGuff's third grade classroom. Mrs. McGuff was one of my favorite teachers I've ever had. She was outgoing and caring and wore these funny colored and patterned socks. She taught me cursive writing and whether or not the "y" in "Jenny" would change to an "ie" when I added an " 's" to it (it doesn't, by the way). She taught her class in a way that made everyone want to learn more and wish they didn't have to leave at the end of the day.
Every morning, she would have the small TV on a counter in the classroom turned on to a news channel. It would keep us caught up on current events and let us know if we needed to wear our coats at recess or not. Probably during this time, she was finishing up writing the lessons of that day on the board or passing out graded papers.
Unlike any other day around it, I remember the day of September 11th, 2001 with such vivid detail. I remember half listening to the news and half talking to the person beside me. I remember the doors to the classrooms next to us and down the halls closing as teachers prepared to fill our brains with useful knowledge. I remember the Breaking News banners flashing on the television screen in what seemed a more urgent speed than usual. I remember the panicked voices of news broadcasters and random faces with no names on the streets of New York.
I remember the footage of AA Flight 11 crashing into the North Tower being played over and over and over again. I can remember, just minutes later, hearing that the South Tower had been hit, also, in what could only be an unimaginable coincidence. I can remember, later that day, seeing the footage of President George W. Bush reading along with a classroom of children after finding out what had happened. I remember the footage and the stills of the victims of the towers falling from too many stories up or being trapped under the rubble. People running as fast as they can with the clouds of ashes and debris billowing behind them. Slipping into stable buildings and closing the doors just in time for the smoke to fly by.
I remember, back at school, child after child after child being called down to the office because a parent or guardian or neighbor was there to pick them up and take them home to safety. We lived in an area that could have easily been a target if more planes were to crash. At this point, everyone was assuming the worst: the United States of America was under a terrorist attack. Maybe it's over now, no more planes would hit. Maybe this was just the beginning. No one knew.
I remember my name being called, along with my sister's. I met her in the office and found out that my neighbor would be taking us home. So, my sister, Dylan, two of his friends, his sister, and I piled into their van and sat in silence as his mom drove us all home.
I remember hugging everyone and bursting into tears and being so grateful that I was in the safety of my own home.
For days, weeks, months, and years afterward, I would see more and more of the footage and stills on TV that have already been permanently imprinted in my memory. I will never forget wondering if my family knew anyone working in the Towers. Then, I thought about the fact that, if we didn't, another person or parent or family or friend somewhere in this country, or even in this world, knew that person that we did not.
Every person that was working in or around the towers and the Pentagon, every person that was in the airplanes that were hijacked, every person that was on the ground and got trapped in these situations, they all had family and friends that now no longer have these people.
That day will never be erased from my mind, as well as the minds of millions of others in America.
Next year, just two months after I turn 18, we will be remembering the tenth anniversary of September 11th, 2001, of 9/11. My hope is that I will be able to drive over to New York and see Ground Zero for the first time with my own eyes. I want to be able to stand there and whisper my love to those that lost their lives in those towers and surrounding area that day. I want to pay my respects to the people that risked or lost their lives to help someone, anyone, that day. And I especially want to thank the people that fight each and every day so that I may continue to live in the land of the free.
With each passing day, week, month, and year, our country grows stronger as a whole because of what happened nine years ago. Though the years go by quickly and the events of that day are spoken of less frequently, no one ever forgets. And that is what makes us the United States of America.
Once the bell rung signaling time to go in and up to our classrooms, I made my way to Mrs. McGuff's third grade classroom. Mrs. McGuff was one of my favorite teachers I've ever had. She was outgoing and caring and wore these funny colored and patterned socks. She taught me cursive writing and whether or not the "y" in "Jenny" would change to an "ie" when I added an " 's" to it (it doesn't, by the way). She taught her class in a way that made everyone want to learn more and wish they didn't have to leave at the end of the day.
Every morning, she would have the small TV on a counter in the classroom turned on to a news channel. It would keep us caught up on current events and let us know if we needed to wear our coats at recess or not. Probably during this time, she was finishing up writing the lessons of that day on the board or passing out graded papers.
Unlike any other day around it, I remember the day of September 11th, 2001 with such vivid detail. I remember half listening to the news and half talking to the person beside me. I remember the doors to the classrooms next to us and down the halls closing as teachers prepared to fill our brains with useful knowledge. I remember the Breaking News banners flashing on the television screen in what seemed a more urgent speed than usual. I remember the panicked voices of news broadcasters and random faces with no names on the streets of New York.
I remember the footage of AA Flight 11 crashing into the North Tower being played over and over and over again. I can remember, just minutes later, hearing that the South Tower had been hit, also, in what could only be an unimaginable coincidence. I can remember, later that day, seeing the footage of President George W. Bush reading along with a classroom of children after finding out what had happened. I remember the footage and the stills of the victims of the towers falling from too many stories up or being trapped under the rubble. People running as fast as they can with the clouds of ashes and debris billowing behind them. Slipping into stable buildings and closing the doors just in time for the smoke to fly by.
I remember, back at school, child after child after child being called down to the office because a parent or guardian or neighbor was there to pick them up and take them home to safety. We lived in an area that could have easily been a target if more planes were to crash. At this point, everyone was assuming the worst: the United States of America was under a terrorist attack. Maybe it's over now, no more planes would hit. Maybe this was just the beginning. No one knew.
I remember my name being called, along with my sister's. I met her in the office and found out that my neighbor would be taking us home. So, my sister, Dylan, two of his friends, his sister, and I piled into their van and sat in silence as his mom drove us all home.
I remember hugging everyone and bursting into tears and being so grateful that I was in the safety of my own home.
For days, weeks, months, and years afterward, I would see more and more of the footage and stills on TV that have already been permanently imprinted in my memory. I will never forget wondering if my family knew anyone working in the Towers. Then, I thought about the fact that, if we didn't, another person or parent or family or friend somewhere in this country, or even in this world, knew that person that we did not.
Every person that was working in or around the towers and the Pentagon, every person that was in the airplanes that were hijacked, every person that was on the ground and got trapped in these situations, they all had family and friends that now no longer have these people.
That day will never be erased from my mind, as well as the minds of millions of others in America.
Next year, just two months after I turn 18, we will be remembering the tenth anniversary of September 11th, 2001, of 9/11. My hope is that I will be able to drive over to New York and see Ground Zero for the first time with my own eyes. I want to be able to stand there and whisper my love to those that lost their lives in those towers and surrounding area that day. I want to pay my respects to the people that risked or lost their lives to help someone, anyone, that day. And I especially want to thank the people that fight each and every day so that I may continue to live in the land of the free.
With each passing day, week, month, and year, our country grows stronger as a whole because of what happened nine years ago. Though the years go by quickly and the events of that day are spoken of less frequently, no one ever forgets. And that is what makes us the United States of America.
;Jen
1 Comments:
That was very powerful.
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