I was six years old the first time I saw someone die. Next time I saw someone die, I was eight years old. No, I did not grow up in some war-torn country in the Middle East or Africa. No, it was not a movie or TV show I watched without my parents’ permission. I hail from a military town in Southeast Georgia, where the Southern drawls are as smooth as the river that borders town. You may ask who allowed such a small child observe that level of violence. Well, the whole country was watching.
A few days ago, our nation observed the 16th anniversary of September 11, 2001. Social media was filled with posts declaring “Never Forget” and “God Bless America.” However, I noticed a disturbing trend. Several people had prefaced their memorial post with “I do remember. I was in (blank) grade.” Statements like these made me realize that there is an entire generation that has to mourn in silence or defend our credentials to feel the pain of 9/11. My father asked me if I remembered what day it was. You never forget the day you lost your innocence. The day you learn that heroes and villains are not just a part of a Disney movie, but rather the idea that some real-life villains can destroy your everyday life becomes a reality. I remember my mother packing a bag not knowing if they would evacuate our small military town because no one was sure if the attacks were over or where they would strike next. I mean, after all, they went after the Pentagon.
“The Falling Man” is now a famous picture from that day. He was also my introduction to death. I remember watching the TV and thinking “That’s such a high jump. How scared he must be.” Two years later, when the Columbia shuttle exploded, I had a better thought process at age eight and wondered if the astronauts felt any pain. Fast forward to high school and reading about these events in history class. It was almost like an out-of-body experience reading about those days from the same book that covered the American Revolution and the World Wars.
The year is now 2017, and the kids that were introduced to death that day are all grown up. But we are forced to mourn quietly, silenced by what our elders think we should remember. To those kids, I want them to know I remember too. Even though we must defend the ache in our heart, just know you are not mourning alone. Please remember and find comfort in that it was not all tears. There are lessons from that day we carry with us, even though we have traded our crayons for iPhones. We learned what it meant to be an American, to lay aside our differences, and stand together as one nation, heartache and all. God Bless America.
