But then I found the pictures my father took in NYC on September 11th, 2001- when he was trying to get home after witnessing the second plane hit the South Tower of the World Trade Center from the George Washington Bridge.
And I decided I wanted to write afterall.
In ten years, American history has been divided into two time frames: pre-9/11 and post 9/11. It's strange to look back and think that there was once a time where the word "terrorism" was only used to describe things that just typically happened in other parts of the world, or that there was once a time where full body scans at airports weren't mandatory, or that there was once a time when our country didn't base our safety level on a color coded bar graph.
In September of 2001, I was fifteen years old and had just started my sophomore year of high school. I hated my math class with a passion, as it was by far my worst subject- and on September 11th I started my day there, in that dreaded math class, sitting front and center where my teacher had callously put me to make sure I would pay attention and not spend the period passing notes to my best friend at the time, Kristi.
We were reluctantly waiting to start our lesson for the day, which seemed to kick off later than usual, while our teacher stood in the doorway of the adjacent classroom, talking to another teacher- both of them looking concerned. After another few long moments, she took her usual spot in front of my desk and explained that a bomb had gone off in one of the World Trade Center towers in New York City, and if it was okay with us, she'd like to put the TV on to get more information.
Being teenagers in a small Massachusetts town and essentially naive to the world outside our own petty problems, our classroom seemed a bit relieved and dare I say, overjoyed- at the prospect of no math lessons that morning as we sat back to watch what was happening. Since talking to the teacher next door and flipping on the news, an anchor on CBS (I believe it was CBS) confirmed that it was not, in fact, a bomb- but an airplane that flew into the North Tower. "What a shitty pilot", David, the boy seated to my left, joked, as we watched the smoke billowing out of the North Tower.
My teacher, assuming the worst was over, went to walk back over to the TV to turn it off and begin our lesson when something caught our eye. A fast moving object on the screen flying towards the Twin Towers. An airplane. "Another plan---" I went to ask nobody in particular before a fireball exploded from the other tower. The news anchors went silent, as did our classroom. You could have heard a pin drop.
Teachers started coming in and out of the room, and it was the first time I'd ever heard "we're under attack" uttered outside of a war movie. Panic set in: Who could have done this? Why would they have done this? Were they done? Would they target anywhere else? How many people died?
It wasn't long after news reports confirmed a terrorist attack that our Dean of Students made an announcement over the school's PA system that our classes would continue as normal, and that teachers were allowed to keep their televisions on at their own discretion. Of course, every teacher opted to leave their television on- and shortly after leaving my math class to head into the next period, I overheard one of the shop teachers yell "they hit Washington, too!"- causing a stampede of students to run into the nearest classroom to see what was going on.
It was during my second and third period classes that I saw the towers fall. I don't remember the reactions of those around me- but I can guess they were similar to my own: shocked and horrified. I had made the decision to attend college in NYC the previous year, and to see two prominent figures in the skyline of a city I loved and was hoping to move to suddenly come crashing down was earth shattering.
I think part of me had hoped that the fires would somehow miraculously be put out, and that despite many casualties and a lot of structural damage- things would turn out okay. I never expected those towers to fall. My unyielding optimism is my own worst enemy sometimes.
Following the collapse of the World Trade Center, the rest of my school day was a blur. I remember watching recaps in every classroom: the planes hitting, the towers falling, people in Manhattan running, screaming, and crying- those trapped in the higher floors leaping to their deaths as it became harder and harder to breathe. I don't think it had processed fully when a news anchor confirmed the final crash in Pennsylvania. It all seemed surreal, like a bad dream.
When I came home, my mother confirmed that my father had been heading towards New Jersey for work when he saw everything- and was attempting to head home, of course with extreme difficulty as the city was being evacuated.
When he finally did get home, I don't think I'd ever hugged him so hard in my life.
I tell my story as an observer. I was fortunate enough not to lose anyone in the attacks- but my heart aches for those who did. In a matter of a couple of hours, close to 3,000 sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, and friends were taken cruelly and prematurely from their loved ones- and the resulting wars from 9/11 have claimed, and continue to claim, even more unnecessary casualties.
And no amount of time, whether it be ten years or twenty years- will ever make it hurt less.
As we look back on the morning that took us from pre-9/11 to post-9/11 and changed the world, I hope those reading this remember that in the hours and days following September 11th, 2001- that this country joined together in patriotic pride to help one another mourn and make it through the darkness- and it is exactly that reason why America is one of the greatest nations in the world.
I also hope it reminds people that the actions of a few extremists in no way should reflect a religion or group of people who practice that religion as a whole. It kills me to see that Muslims are still being persecuted against by people who are still so confused and scared by what has happened that they cannot see past religion or ethnicity.
America might be in pretty rough shape right now, but I love this country. I love living here. I'm grateful to be here, and I know that we'll get through the hard times. We did ten years ago, and we'll do it again.
xo
