Bright eyed and eager to learn, I sat in my desk as a first grader. I began my day like any other. Got on the bus, arrived at school, filed in and unpacked my things. Nothing was out of the ordinary until we finished our morning lesson.
Seeing a panicked neighbor teacher pop her head in the door and motion for mine to step into the hall didn’t phase many of the students at 8:45 a.m. on that Tuesday morning.
However, when our instructor stepped back into the room, she slowly turned, keeping her hand on the doorknob, we knew at that moment that it was no normal Tuesday morning. More teachers popped in and out as mine tried to control the fear in her eyes and the students in the class. Shortly after that, announcements for students to come to the office overtook the intercom.
My name was called, and as I walked down the hall, confused and concerned, I saw my mom walking towards me. She embraced me in an anxious hug and assured me that everything was going to be okay. As a six year old, I was unaware of the severity of the situation or that there even was a situation at hand. I got into the car, put on my seatbelt and headed for home, still wondering why I was being dismissed from school at 9am. As we drove, my mom mulled over her words, trying to find the appropriate way to tell me that there had been “bad people” that did a “bad thing” to some important buildings in New York City, which we had visited only a week earlier. My mental capacity at the time was not one that could handle such information.
The radio was on in the car, and I remember hearing the emergency broadcast overcome the speakers. Between the horror on my mom’s face and the ear-piercing noise from the transmission, I was definitely frightened. When we finally reached home, my mom placed her hands on my shoulders and told me that we were going to stay with some friends. We packed our things and drove to a family friend’s home and this is where I saw the television broadcast for the first time. There were two tall buildings on fire. Smoke rolled out of each and a replay of the planes flying through them will forever be an iconic image in my mind. That night, I sat up in bed. Worried and confused about all of those that were hurt, and the terror on the various adult faces I had seen that day, I clutched my best friend and we talked about the events in the only way we knew how.
Fifteen years later, I see the same image on the television. It comes with the same fear and the same iconic feeling. Perusing a career in education, I hope to evoke the same emotions in my future students. I hope to teach those who aren’t old enough to remember the day in an honorable fashion. I hope to do justice to those who lost their lives responding to the disaster, and those who unknowingly went about their day to never return home. I take pride in living in a nation, where no matter the issues (political scandal, which lives matter more, gender equality, police brutality, presidential elections), we can still come together on a day like today and feel proud to be American.
Today, we honor the fallen. We have moments of silence and we feel more American than ever.
