I know today is an important day. No matter where you were, what you were doing, how you felt, or what you did in response, September 11th, 2001 affected you. In some way, it affected you. Some of us were horrified. Some enraged. Some utterly confused. Some, even, at peace. Somewhere in us, though, a tear was shed that day.
I shed tears that day.
It was the first full week of seventh grade. The school bus full of murmurs started that Tuesday morning on an odd note. The crying driver added oddness. My first class was typing. Mrs. Woods was not at her desk. My close friend at the time, upon double-clicking the Mavis Beacon icon, nonchalantly mentioned that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. I didn’t believe him, and the conversation ended, and we teacherlessly practiced our typing. I passed 30 words a minute that day.
The buzzer signaled us to head to our next class, which for me was US History. Ms. Rogers was present, but she decided to forego role and current events for a box of Kleenex for herself and a television for us. We all sat quietly, staring as our internal questions of “What’s happening?”, “What does this mean?”, “Are those people in New York City okay?” grew heavier in our young minds.
The CNN feed gave no comfort as a repeating cycle engrained the questions further into our minds. Plane into the North Tower. Plane into the Second tower. Cut scene to the Pentagon. Jump back to businessmen falling from 80th Floor windows. First tower falls. Second tower falls. Repeat.
The day continued in this fashion – the buzzer herded us to the next period, where a missing or crying teacher was replaced with the another television. We went home with the same questions, and no one could or would answer them. When my little sister, Alyssa, asked me what was happening, as her after-school cartoons were replaced by reporters and the traumatic cycle. I couldn’t answer the 8-year-old. Our parents came home that night, silent, with no answer.
It has been ten years now. I am certain that since that day, I have not shed a single tear, despite all that has happened as a result. At the risk of sounding calloused and insensitive, I have one thing to say to mark this occasion: I will not shed a tear today until the tears shed a decade ago, the tears of my teachers, the tears of my sister, and the tears of my parents, all of which, to this day, have gone unanswered, are accounted for and understood.
What have we learned since that day? What have we accomplished? Two wars? 8 years of a weak president hiding behind the now-hallowed “9/11”? Thousands of soldiers dead fighting in ravaged nations against their fellow man? When has having hope meant gaining retribution? When has peace ever been won by the fear, suffering, and hate of war? When will the lies end and the comfort begin? When will equality again be won with the voices of the few instead of shot down by the anger and intolerance of the many? When will the fearful seventh graders inside us all finally have an answer?
Video reading of this post, along with some other words.
