Remembering 9/11: A 2nd Grader’s Tale

We all know the story. It started out as any other September morning: people going to work, kids going to school; all in all, the world seemed normal. Normal, though, is hardly the word that anybody in America–or the world–would have used to describe the day that had just ended.

September 11th, 2001 was a day unlike any other in American history. It transformed the world and to this day continues to provoke emotions that bring us to tears.

The attacks on that day were the worst ever in our nation’s history, and this year, as we approach the ten year anniversary of the day America stood still, once more we remember, living up to the timeless promise that we will never forget.

I was only a second grader when one of the most terrible events in human history occurred. In fact, I was only in second grade when the most cowardly act of warwas waged against the United States.

Back then, my handwriting was atrocious. I had an insatiable curiosity for writing utensils, and for the most part did not care for my teacher’s rigid classroom structure. I was already what she called a “child in rebellion” and I was in for a long school year. Speaking of school, I had only been in that classroom for a couple of weeks — the school year had just started. It was in that academic year that everything changed.

For me, the way I remember September 11th is far from common. In fact, I vaguely remember that day. My day consisted of the following: going to school, being oblivious to the war zone in Lower Manhattan, and then coming home and learning of the deaths of thousands. That part I remember quite clearly: it was a warm Lubbock day, right on the edge of fall with summer beginning to fade away. Mom had picked me up from school just as she normally would, but after we pulled into our driveway, she seemingly locked me in our Suburban. Detached, she put our SUV into park, turned and looked at me, and briefed me on the evil of the day. It wasn’t truly a briefing though, more of a short situation report. I don’t think she had even fully grasped what had happened, as all she told me was, “Lots of people died today. This has been a terrible day.”

At some point we made it inside, as I dropped my backpack near the door, and we headed for the living room where the TV had remained on the entire time she was away from home–that something we did not do back then. As I took my spot on the couch, Mom was beside herself, on the edge of our oversized armchair watching the news unfold.

Together we watched as Peter Jennings, the man my family trusted to bring us the news each and every night, and was on the air for 17 hours after the attacks, tried to wade through the drama, the destruction, and the carnage, fighting back his own raw emotion to bring us as cogent a report as possible.

One of few things I remember from that day was Jennings interviewing one of the first individuals to capture the heart wrenching footage of the collapse of the Twin Towers. I remember producers scrambling to put a microphone on this man, and hearing the rustling of a live, open microphone against his t-shirt. Aside from that, I don’t remember what went on around me. There was the phone call from my football coach letting us know that practice had been canceled, but aside from that, nothing. Not even my brother, who was in junior high, coming home; not even my father, a police officer, getting off of work. I was glued to the TV, unable to comprehend the fear in people’s hearts and the uncertainty in their words.

I’m not sure if it was trauma from merely watching such terrible things flash across the screen, or simply my age that has caused me to remember so little, but as I’ve grown older, become a young adult, I am now able to understand the enormity of that day. It has taken time, but finally, after ten years, I am able to begin to process and understand.

Each year, at 8:46AM on September the 11th, I pause so that I may reflect.

I reflect on the images that replayed over and over again on TV: watching the fires burn, seeing the towers collapse to the ground, all in awe as I saw on television the expressionless and soot-covered faces of Americans who were lost in time.

I reflect on the lost souls from that day; I reflect on the angels who ran back into the fires as their skin sizzled, to rescue others; I reflect on how the day after, the world rallied behind a reunited America.

Since that day, America has been at war. Countless others have been lost in defense of this land all in the name of finding Osama bin Laden, bringing him to justice, and defeating al-Qaeda. The war against this organization will come to an end–and the war on terror will follow suit. As President Reagan said, “evil is powerless if the good are unafraid.”

Since that morning, nearly one day has passed for each American killed in New York, Washington, and Pennsylvania. But no number of days nor amount of time will able to be able to heal the loss of a loved one.

Each September 11th, as Old Glory is raised to full mast, and then back down half way, I stand a little taller. As should we all, as we live in the greatest country to ever grace this planet. It’s our job…it’s our duty…it’s the promise we made ten years ago…to never forget.

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Assorted Articles on September 11th

• DVD Review: Remembering 9/11 (blogcritics.org)
• The Last Peacetime Generation: We Were in Junior High on 9/11 (blogcritics.org)
• How the Brain Remembers 9/11 (blogs.scientificamerican.com)
• September 11…We Remember (openingnightatlast.wordpress.com)