9/11

It's 9/11. 6 years. And are we safer? Is the US more secure? Nobody is saying. It's not a debate I choose to have here on my blog.

I do remember that day, clearly. Like it was yesterday. It's one of those incredibly traumatic events that is scorched on every one's brain. Like for everyone who was alive, they remember exactly where they were when Kennedy was shot. Or when the Challenger exploded. 9/11 is the same thing. And so here is my story.

At the time, I was teaching in North Carolina. I taught in a trailer in the playground along with 6 other teachers. I took my kids into the building for a bathroom break and one of the 4th grade teachers walked by me and whispered into my ear. I was only half paying attention to him, there were so many things I was paying attention to. He said "A plane flew into the WTC." I barely even heard what he said, and I certainly didn't understand what he meant. I assumed that it was a tiny plane and an accident. I didn't even pause as I rounded out my kids and continued teaching. About an hour later, my kids were in a special, and I walked into the classroom next to mine, hearing her television on (her kids were in a special as well). I saw scenes of the plane that crashed into the Pentagon. That's when I got very confused. I couldn't understand how someone could confuse the WTC in NYC and the Pentagon in DC. (At this point I still hadn't realized that they both had been attacked.)

The main office then cancelled all afterschool activities for the day. We sent all of the kids home at the end of the regular school day. I guess the administration felt that it was a time to be with their families (and I was 1000 miles from my closest relative). This was the first time I had a chance to learn what was going on. I sat in another teacher's classroom and watched the now famous TV footage of the towers being hit by those two planes. Tears streamed down my face. I realized then that this was no accident. And as I watched, I started putting the pieces together. I drove home in a fog. All of the local radio stations had suspended regular broadcasts and were doing news and call-in shows. My favorite radio personalities were still on air at 4 in the afternoon (their show, was on from 6-10 in the morning). They were serious and you could hear the emotion in their voices.

I got home and turned on the news and watched and cried. I called my family, and told them I loved them. I honestly don't think I have ever felt so alone. I just sat in front of the TV watching footage of the buildings burning, desperate people jumping, and the buildings finally collapsing. I was numb and I ached. The country that I love had been attacked.

I cried like I lost a loved one that day. (I didn't. In fact, I didn't even know anyone who died that day...) That doesn't matter. Even still, 9/11 makes me cry. I haven't been able to watch any footage of it since that week. Alan Jackson's song, "Where were you (when the world stopped turning)" speaks to me. I think whether you like country music or not, it's words touch your heart. I remember his first performance of the song, shortly after the attacks. I don't think there was a dry eye in the house that night. I know mine weren't.

And that day changed me. In profound ways. I felt that I had to do something. I had to find a way to help, to make the US safer. To protect my friends and family. And so, I left teaching, I found the job that I have now.

That's my 9/11 story, what's yours?