It was an average day for a second grader in the walls of Richard Mann Elementary School, except for the tears streaming down the always-happy Mrs. Tobin after lunch. She tried to hide them as we walked into the classroom in a single-file line, but we all caught a glimpse. Without saying anything else, we carried on with our day with a weird energy in the room, like there was something huge going on outside that our teachers didn't want to explain.
Excited to see my nine-month old brother after school, I jumped off the bus and rushed up the driveway. There it was again -- that weird feeling. Only this time, I heard my mom's muffled cry from the family room and knew something was wrong. My little mind couldn't process the whole situation, but all I saw was my parents distraught in front of the TV screen. A TV screen that showed airplanes hitting a tall building.
That was fourteen years ago.
That day did not force me to overcome the pain of a personal loss. I watched it on a screen, not out of my window. I saw the smoke and debris, but I didn't breathe it in. I watched the emergency vehicles zoom through unfamiliar streets toward nameless people. None of us were lucky that day, but I was (and still am) grateful that I didn't lose a loved one.
It still is kind of a foreign concept to me, like I view September 11 through the mind of that little seven year old girl. Mostly, I find it hard to understand how people could set out to hurt innocent people. People who simply went to work that morning without a hint of the disaster that lied ahead. A disaster that shook the entire world. A disaster that didn't have to happen.
My recall of 9/11 is nothing momentous or heroic, yet it is similar to many Americans'. We watched the crashes on a loop with aching hearts, praying for the children who weren't sitting next to their parents' as I was, and for the spouses who were sitting by the phone waiting to hear a familiar voice.
No matter how small my story, it scares me to think that people only a few years younger than myself don't have a story at all. They are too young to remember. My brother, now 14, was sleeping in a bassinet while my parents and I watched the news. He has no remembrance of this day. Instead, he reads about it in textbooks, sees pictures and listens to stories.
What scares me is that instead of 9/11 being a symbol of American patriotism for younger generations, it will be a chapter in their history textbook -- that's it. Yes, the pictures are haunting and the videos can cause tears, but I don't want us, as a nation, to become numb to those feelings.
Take this anniversary to educate about the heroic men and women who fought that day and those who continue to protect America. Remind someone about the way the nation came together after the horrendous actions of 9/11. Reflect on the lives lost.
