September 11, 2011
It’s common knowledge that ten years ago, on September 11, 2001, cowards attacked our nation. I was in art class when the planes hit. I was in science class when the towers fell. It didn’t make much sense at the time, as many teachers were instructed not to let students see the televisions. The principal came on air and explained what had happened, but it didn’t sink in. I was ten, and couldn’t wait to see my friends at lunch.
I came home and saw my mom glued to the television. I saw the news as well- the planes hitting the towers, the Pentagon smouldering, and a blackened field in Pennsylvania, but it didn’t click. I saw the devastation on the television, read it in the newspaper headlines and magazines, and heard it on the radio, but it didn’t sink in to my mind like it should have. It was like reading about the Titanic.
In all honesty, it wasn’t until I had the honor of visiting Ground Zero a little over a year and a half after the attacks that its severity hit home. Countless names who fought against the terrorists by digging through the rubble to save lives while risking theirs were listed. The signs which listed the names of the dead seemed to cover the length of the block.
The memories that I formed from the tragedy of September 11 are not those of men and women jumping from the 95th floor of the World Trade Center, the smell of death, or the fear of another attack. These memories were ingrained from countless newscasts and history lessons throughout the past decade.
I had the blessing of viewing our nation’s worst attack through the eyes of a child. Rather than the invasion of Iraq and Afghanistan, I remember our nation standing in unity. I remember firemen collecting money to fill the ambulance with extra supplies before they headed to Ground Zero. I remember flags on every porch. I idolized the men and women on Flight 93. I recognized the significance of men and women joining the military and fighting for my freedom. Most importantly, I remember learning the true cost of my freedoms and what it truly mean to be an American citizen.
Today, I view September 11 in a new light. When I see the footage of black smoke rushing through the streets of NYC, hear recorded shrieks of those fearing death, watch men and women chose their fate and jumped from the World Trade Center, and the smouldering field in Pennsylvania, my stomach turns, my heart drops, and chills encase my body. It is the men and women who worked so hard to evacuate the buildings and search through the rubble that bring ease my heart, and comfort my nerves.
The terrorist attacks in New York City, Washington, D.C., and Shanksville, Pennsylvania affected not only our country, but our world. It is our nation’s resilience to these attacks- the men and women who ran into the burning buildings to save co-workers, those on Flight 93 who gave their lives to save others, men and women who lined up to donate blood and raise funds to help with recovery efforts, the soldiers who were willing to act on difficult commands by their officers that day, and the men and women who are serving overseas today which makes me proud to be an American.
