What are your personal memories of September 11th?
A mere freshman in high school, I remember it being a colder September morning as I changed into my gym clothes in the locker room. I wondered about trivial things, like if a cute upperclassman would be on my team in the outdoor gaming unit we were on and if the teacher would make us complete arduous tasks, as she sometimes did. It was one of the first days of school and being a brand new high school student was still very interesting to me. It was a normal morning, after all. Just another tuesday. When first period ended, I went back into the same locker room and changed into my usual attire. There were girls talking and laughing all around me, eager to finish up the day to go home to their parents and boyfriends and cliques. I made my way to second period, Keyboarding, and sat down next to Ian as I usually did. The class proceeded as usual. I was bored, completed my work faster than the rest of the students, then surfed the Graal forums for the rest of the period. Glancing up at the clock near the front of the room, I noticed that it was nearly time to go and gathered my belongings. My peers made a cluster near the door, awaiting the loud ringing that signified our exit. That was when our principal's voice came over the PA.
"I don't know how to say this, but... Please don't panic. We are not in danger. Two airplanes have crashed into the World Trade Center. It doesn't look like Vermont is going to be attacked, so do not worry. The rest of the day will still continue."
A myriad of confused voices piped up around me, questioning this strange message. What had just happened? The principal was far too vague for any of us to make sense of it, but we all had heard her voice shaking. Almost immediately after, the bell rang and I made my way down to the "A La Carte," where students would go to buy snacks in between class periods. Around me, everyone was talking hurriedly to each other. No one really knew what to make of anything, but they did understand that "we (were) not in danger." The principal did not specify who was in danger, nor did she elaborate on the seriousness of what had happened. I wasn't the only one who had no idea that so many people were dead and dying in New York City. As much as it disgusts me, there were even people who made light of the matter; who, in one instance, used the tragedy as a way out of class.
During French class, the teacher was very upset. He told everyone that if they had loved ones in New York City, they could leave class to call them and see if they were all right. Several people lied and left. No one was aware of the seriousness yet. In fact, the demeanor of the school in general didn't even change until the following day. Most people found out from their parents and the news. While I still do not understand why the principal did not elaborate on the matter further, I suppose her reasons may have centered around wanting to keep the students pacified. Either way, I was pretty much clueless as I left school that afternoon and got into my mom's car.
Something I remember quite clearly is singing Gorillaz' "Clint Eastwood" as I opened the door and sat down into the passenger's seat. I glanced over and saw my mom look at me in horror, her eyes red and puffy and her cheeks streaked with tears. I stopped singing abruptly, blinking in stunned silence. "Don't you know what happened?" she asked me, blowing her nose into a kleenex. "Didn't you hear about the thousands who died and are still dying?"
I shrugged my shoulders in reply, shaking my head. "No, we weren't told much." Feeling somewhat awkward, I faced forward and looked at the road, gripping my bookbag. "Are... are you okay?"
She then proceeded to inform me of what had happened. I became even more confused about why the principal didn't say anything, and it now made sense to me that my French teacher was so upset. How could something this tragic have happened to us, to America, the proudest country in the world? I had heard about things like this in stories, but I had never been alive to witness anything quite like it. Needless to say, I was floored.
When I got home and turned on the news, I was greeted by crying reporters, complete and total carnage, and sheer devastation. There is one particular image that I will not be able to get out of my mind until the day I die, and I could probably still cry right now if I thought about it long enough. It was simply of a man in a business suit being filmed falling from one of the burning buildings, his tie pressed to the side of his face. This man had a family. He probably had a wife and kids. And there he was, jumping out of the World Trade Center on that fateful day, choosing an option that wasn't burning to death in the inferno. I can't imagine being his wife or daughter, turning on the television to see footage of their husband or father leaping to his death. In a sense, I don't understand why that type of footage was even aired. Yes, it's real, and yes, it's relevant, but it certainly didn't help the general demeanor of the world. One thing it did do was enforce the seriousness of the situation. And I do suppose that is, in fact, enough justification.
Later that afternoon, I walked outside into my backyard and stared off across the lake. On the other side was Plattsburgh, New York. While I couldn't see New York City no matter how far I looked, I couldn't help but feel strange about the fact that everything was so peaceful and serene where I resided and it was complete and utter chaos elsewhere. I felt very guilty for being so safe when there were so many suffering and dead. Even though I had no friends or relatives dead or dying, I was definitely still very emotional about the tragedy. And looking back on that day, I probably always will be. It's one I still remember vividly and photographically; one I may never forget.
Regardless of what anyone says about it, I am still proud to be an American. I love my country. I always have, and I more than likely always will. I don't say much about it, nor do I really voice my opinion on subjects like this much, but I feel far too out of place in any other country (except Canada, but I'm half-Canadian anyway). There are places I love to visit, sure, but America will always have the biggest place in my heart. George W. Bush or not, I will never stop appreciating my home country. I only wish more people felt the same.
Today is a day of remembrance. It is not to be joked about or laughed at. If you were living in New York City at the time of the incident, you would not be laughing. The complete detachment I see is disgusting. Yes, it has been five years. So what? That's five years that small children have grown up without their mother or father. Five years people have lived as widows. Five years without the twin towers, one of this country's great symbols. If you were affected by the tragedy, you would not make light of it as I see so many of you doing. Instead of being so snide, be thankful. I just can't fathom why anyone can honestly laugh about something like this and live with themselves as people.
(The above entry was written as a friends only post in my LiveJournal last year. The only thing I've edited is the last paragraph. It has now been five years instead of four. My sentiments are still the same and the post applies in full.)
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