September 11th
In the four years I've been writing on here, I've never once written about September 11th. I never really... felt the need to. I understand the importance of remembrance and of honoring those who lost their lives that day, but it's never occurred to me to write about it.
When I was still at Columbia Greene, I took a class with a professor who asked us where we were on September 11th, 2001 - asked us what we were doing that day - then quickly retracted her question, saying all of us in that class were too young to remember where we were or what we were doing. She was wrong. Most of us there were about the same age and had been in either fourth, fifth, or sixth grade in September of 2001. At the very youngest, someone in that class would have been 8, just about 9, years old in September of 2001.
Me? I was 9 in September 2001. I turned 10 in October. Contrary to what that teacher believed, I do remember where I was and what I was doing. I was in fifth grade, and my class had just come back from gym class. We were all excited and happy because we had gotten to play kickball in gym class and at 9/10 years old, that's basically the highlight of your school days. Kickball. We got back into the classroom, and our teacher was at her desk, crying. None of us knew why, but something about seeing our teaching crying like that stunned us all into silence. We sat down at our desks, silent and confused. Our teacher left the room, and we all just sort of looked around at each other. What... what had happened? What was going on? We didn't know. The teacher came back just a few minutes later. I just remember sitting there. I remember how quiet it was in the classroom. She told us something bad had happened down in New York City, but we were 9 year olds. We didn't understand, not really. One by one, kids started getting called down to the office for pick-up. Those of us who weren't picked up, myself included, were scared. Was something bad going to happen here too? School was supposed to be a safe place, right? Why were our friends' parents picking them up? We didn't know, didn't understand the gravity of the situation. I remember wanting to be with my sister, then in second grade. I don't know why; I think I just wanted to be sure she was ok. I wanted to know what was going on in her classroom.
It wasn't until I got home, to my grandparents' house, that afternoon that I found out what had happened. I didn't lose anyone in my family that day and I didn't know any of those who lost their lives that day, but my heart hurt for those who did. Knowing planted a seed of fear in most of us -- we lived just a couple of hours outside the city, would our (small, rural) area be attacked too? As kids, it seemed to us completely possible - and even likely.
I understand if people, especially people who were younger don't remember where they were or what they were doing. My two youngest siblings for example: Cody was 3 years and 4 months old, and Hailey was 1 year and 3 months old. I doubt that either of them remember anything from that day. They were still babies, really. But anyone who was older than about 8, I feel like it's unfair to simply assume they were too young to remember. Days like that stick out in people's memories.
Where were you? What were you doing?
When I was still at Columbia Greene, I took a class with a professor who asked us where we were on September 11th, 2001 - asked us what we were doing that day - then quickly retracted her question, saying all of us in that class were too young to remember where we were or what we were doing. She was wrong. Most of us there were about the same age and had been in either fourth, fifth, or sixth grade in September of 2001. At the very youngest, someone in that class would have been 8, just about 9, years old in September of 2001.
Me? I was 9 in September 2001. I turned 10 in October. Contrary to what that teacher believed, I do remember where I was and what I was doing. I was in fifth grade, and my class had just come back from gym class. We were all excited and happy because we had gotten to play kickball in gym class and at 9/10 years old, that's basically the highlight of your school days. Kickball. We got back into the classroom, and our teacher was at her desk, crying. None of us knew why, but something about seeing our teaching crying like that stunned us all into silence. We sat down at our desks, silent and confused. Our teacher left the room, and we all just sort of looked around at each other. What... what had happened? What was going on? We didn't know. The teacher came back just a few minutes later. I just remember sitting there. I remember how quiet it was in the classroom. She told us something bad had happened down in New York City, but we were 9 year olds. We didn't understand, not really. One by one, kids started getting called down to the office for pick-up. Those of us who weren't picked up, myself included, were scared. Was something bad going to happen here too? School was supposed to be a safe place, right? Why were our friends' parents picking them up? We didn't know, didn't understand the gravity of the situation. I remember wanting to be with my sister, then in second grade. I don't know why; I think I just wanted to be sure she was ok. I wanted to know what was going on in her classroom.
It wasn't until I got home, to my grandparents' house, that afternoon that I found out what had happened. I didn't lose anyone in my family that day and I didn't know any of those who lost their lives that day, but my heart hurt for those who did. Knowing planted a seed of fear in most of us -- we lived just a couple of hours outside the city, would our (small, rural) area be attacked too? As kids, it seemed to us completely possible - and even likely.
I understand if people, especially people who were younger don't remember where they were or what they were doing. My two youngest siblings for example: Cody was 3 years and 4 months old, and Hailey was 1 year and 3 months old. I doubt that either of them remember anything from that day. They were still babies, really. But anyone who was older than about 8, I feel like it's unfair to simply assume they were too young to remember. Days like that stick out in people's memories.
Where were you? What were you doing?
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