I Still Remember. And Now, I Try to Teach the Next Generation As Well

Someday, I really will post here more often than once every year, but I'll never neglect to do so on this day.

I was teaching at a school this morning, and there was an extended moment of silence during the morning announcements, which seemed awkwardly long to some of the students. It hit me that none of the kids in school were even close to being born when 9/11 happened. One of them even has a birthday today, and that day (in 2008) was far enough removed from that fateful day, that it's no longer really a stigma to have been born on this day.

I did get to share part of my story with some of the kids--they were amazed that I knew exactly where I was when it happened--and part of what I told them is in this post that I originally wrote one year later in 2002. I'll share it again now:

Where were you when you heard the news? (And it's odd to think that literally all of my public school students--and almost all of my college students--would have to say "not yet born." My oldest nephew, now out of college, was an infant at the time; the younger two were likely not yet imagined.)

Here's my story: I was on a break from teaching, like every Tuesday, and actually spent the time of the attacks in blissful ignorance at a nearby Starbucks. I had CD's on in my car instead of the radio, so I totally missed the news on both the way over and the way back. I did hear a radio playing on the Starbucks patio--at a table with nobody sitting there--and they were talking about "the second plane," but it didn't register with me at all. (It amazed me later that nobody walked inside and told us about it.)

When I got back to the school, the flute teacher stopped me in the hallway and asked me if all my students were being pulled out of school (evidently hers were). I said, "No, why?" and she told me what had happened. I spent the rest of the day like everyone else, in shocked, depressed amazement, catching the news when I could. There I was, not even two weeks into being a homeowner, and the world suddenly felt so different. It added to the pall cast over everything when I found out that the sister of a girl I graduated from high school with was on Flight 93, the one that crashed in a field in Pennsylvania. (I know that there have been quite a few lists of names read aloud today, so let me share hers: Lauren Catuzzi Grandcolas. May she rest in peace...)

The whole thing felt so surreal; how could anyone hate us that much? The concept of the suicide hijacking was unprecedented as well (before that, hijackers just usually wanted to go to Cuba, and that's why airline personnel were taught to cooperate with them rather than try to subdue them).

I know there are still terrorist plots being hatched, and people capable of carrying them out...but I hope nothing like this ever happens on U.S. soil again. Or anywhere, for that matter.

As I often say on this day, I hope nobody tires of talking about this every once in a while, because if we stop talking, we might forget, and this is a day that need not be forgotten anytime soon.