Today is the ninth anniversary of the 9-11 terrorist attacks. My personal story on that day:
I was a junior in high school. I think I must have been in seminary (early morning scripture-study class) when the first plane hit. I walked across the street to my high school for first period, office aiding. I did whatever tasks I had in a room adjacent to the front office. When I left for second period, I noticed a couple of TVs set up in the front office, but didn't know why.
I got to second period algebra class. Something was going on. A girl was crying, being comforted by a couple of friends. People were talking about something, but I still wasn't sure. The crying girl sat next to me in that class. She kept saying, "My mom's in New York, my mom's in New York." I didn't know what that meant. After my apparent confusion and questioning, a guy told me that a plane(s) had hit the World Trade Center. World Trade Center? I had no idea what that building was, other than that it was probably a pretty important one. Sure, call me an ignorant 15-year-old. Class went on as scheduled.
Watched the news in third period English. This is when I got a better sense of what exactly happened. Fourth period U.S. history--you'd think we'd watch U.S. history unfold, right?! WRONG! My teacher taught the lesson he had originally planned. Super shame, Mr. B!
I can't remember what we did in my classes the rest of the day. All I know is that the mood was more somber than usual, but nothing too out of the ordinary; we were all pretty removed geographically from it all, and I think that had something to do with it. I had tennis practice after school that day. I had heard that air traffic had been shut down nationwide, but I saw an airplane before practice had begun, and I got a little nervous. Nothing happened, of course.
As the years pass by, I gain a better perspective of this unforgettable day and the effects it has on our nation and world. I'm grateful to be an American.
Watch this powerful video combining images, music, and words by George W. Bush:
1 comment:
Funny what a difference age makes. I was 20 and in my 3rd year of college in Minnesota. I remember our huge college campus closing as soon as the first plane hit. I listened to the horror on the radio as I drove home and then I watched the tv once I got home in disbelief. I called everyone I loved in panic.
For weeks and weeks, I couldn't sleep but for an hour or so at a time. My stomach was in knots trying to dissect and make sense out of what had happened. I lost all faith in God and humanity. It was a bleak, bleak time. Several of my friends went on antidepressants, and I remember I stopped eating for awhile. Everything reminded me of it: a smile, a laugh, a cry, the invisible wind, being in an elevator and wondering what it must have been like for them. Everything was a reminder, and everything seemed sad.
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