Its hard to believe that its been 9 yrs since the attack on America. Like every New Yorker, and every American; I remember exactly where I was on that day. I was sitting in my 7th grade theater class, when there was a knock at the door. My teachers father also worked in the school, as a janitor. His father came in, and whispered something in his ear. My teachers face drained and he just said "Seriously?" A few of my classmates started getting called over the loudspeaker to come to the office a short time later.
Now, putting things into perspective: I was a precocious 7th grader, wrapped up in the drama of middle school. The day before, a few of the kids had gotten into a fight on the bus after school. They'd all gotten in trouble, and been told that it'd be dealt with the next day. So, in my next class the English teacher asked if any of us had heard what was going on. And, in my typical smart ass fashion, I replied "all the kids in that fight yesterday are getting suspended". He replied no, and told us that 'terrorists' had flown planes into the twin towers. Looking back, I had no idea what time this was. We were safe in our prepubescent cocoon. Terrorists? What the hell was a terrorist? Who were they? Why would they fly planes into a building?! HOW did they do it? The kids all talked amongst ourselves while our teachers conversed. These teachers were in their late 20's/early 30's. They were just as confused as we were.
The classes were emptying faster & faster as parents came to pick up their children. I heard my name, and just knowing that my mommy was there to save me settled some of the anxiety in my stomach. She hugged me when I made my way to the office, but ignored all of my questions about what was happening.
I live all the way in Coney Island, the southern-most tip of Brooklyn. My junior high was mere blocks from my house. And as my mother grabbed my hand and dragged me as fast as she could back to our apartment, it was snowing. This was a sunny September day, and all this powdery debris was floating down all around us. All these years later, that moment still stands out to me the most. Was that white powder drifting down on us paper? Steel? Was it the people that had perished and burned in a fiery death? A combination? The streets were empty, and white from the falling chunks. My mom and I passed by a group of cabbies, that had assembled in the streets, huddled together talking. They were Muslim, and my heart went out to them. From the bits and pieces of overheard information at school, Muslim extremists were behind the act and I knew it wouldn't be long before they would feel the wrath of wanna be vigilantes.
Home, safe. Or were we? The biggest fear for all Americans was "is it over?". Turning on the TV, I saw the images that we see every year on this day. A plane flying ever closer to one of the towers. Both of the towers on fire. The tower imploding. People leaping from buildings, because there was no way for rescue workers to reach them. Can you imagine, jumping from 110 stories high because the only alternative is dying in the inferno behind you? By this time, the media was reporting that there had also been an attack on the Pentagon and that some brave passengers had thwarted another attack and the plane that had been hijacked had crashed in Pennsylvania. Was someone going to come and drop bombs next? As a 12 year old scared to hell, my imagination dreamt up the most horrific things. My mother was trying to stay calm. At that time, my uncle was working for Morgan Stanley, and the office was in tower 2. Phone lines were jammed, with people trying to call and locate family members. Wait, my dad! Where was he? Did grandma make it home? One of my aunts called, on a borrowed cell phone. She and a bunch of strangers had run for their lives from their downtown Manhattan offices and were walking across the Brooklyn Bridge home. She'd call us when she got to Coney Island.
I was lucky. I didn't lose any friends or family on that day. But, September 11th changed everything about our lives. Donating food and supplies, seeing people volunteer at Ground Zero, being selfless and uniting as a nation helped us to recover from the devastation. Patriotism was at an all time high, with people uniting (out of spite?) to say "We Will Survive. We will get over this, and we will be better than ever". It wasn't the only thing that changed. Everyday, and in every way the innocence and naïvete that I had, that we all had as a nation, was shattered. We now know that America isn't invincible. That at any moment, our world can be shaken up by an outside force. That race & religion are once again the basis for discrimination.
Now, putting things into perspective: I was a precocious 7th grader, wrapped up in the drama of middle school. The day before, a few of the kids had gotten into a fight on the bus after school. They'd all gotten in trouble, and been told that it'd be dealt with the next day. So, in my next class the English teacher asked if any of us had heard what was going on. And, in my typical smart ass fashion, I replied "all the kids in that fight yesterday are getting suspended". He replied no, and told us that 'terrorists' had flown planes into the twin towers. Looking back, I had no idea what time this was. We were safe in our prepubescent cocoon. Terrorists? What the hell was a terrorist? Who were they? Why would they fly planes into a building?! HOW did they do it? The kids all talked amongst ourselves while our teachers conversed. These teachers were in their late 20's/early 30's. They were just as confused as we were.
The classes were emptying faster & faster as parents came to pick up their children. I heard my name, and just knowing that my mommy was there to save me settled some of the anxiety in my stomach. She hugged me when I made my way to the office, but ignored all of my questions about what was happening.
I live all the way in Coney Island, the southern-most tip of Brooklyn. My junior high was mere blocks from my house. And as my mother grabbed my hand and dragged me as fast as she could back to our apartment, it was snowing. This was a sunny September day, and all this powdery debris was floating down all around us. All these years later, that moment still stands out to me the most. Was that white powder drifting down on us paper? Steel? Was it the people that had perished and burned in a fiery death? A combination? The streets were empty, and white from the falling chunks. My mom and I passed by a group of cabbies, that had assembled in the streets, huddled together talking. They were Muslim, and my heart went out to them. From the bits and pieces of overheard information at school, Muslim extremists were behind the act and I knew it wouldn't be long before they would feel the wrath of wanna be vigilantes.
Home, safe. Or were we? The biggest fear for all Americans was "is it over?". Turning on the TV, I saw the images that we see every year on this day. A plane flying ever closer to one of the towers. Both of the towers on fire. The tower imploding. People leaping from buildings, because there was no way for rescue workers to reach them. Can you imagine, jumping from 110 stories high because the only alternative is dying in the inferno behind you? By this time, the media was reporting that there had also been an attack on the Pentagon and that some brave passengers had thwarted another attack and the plane that had been hijacked had crashed in Pennsylvania. Was someone going to come and drop bombs next? As a 12 year old scared to hell, my imagination dreamt up the most horrific things. My mother was trying to stay calm. At that time, my uncle was working for Morgan Stanley, and the office was in tower 2. Phone lines were jammed, with people trying to call and locate family members. Wait, my dad! Where was he? Did grandma make it home? One of my aunts called, on a borrowed cell phone. She and a bunch of strangers had run for their lives from their downtown Manhattan offices and were walking across the Brooklyn Bridge home. She'd call us when she got to Coney Island.
I was lucky. I didn't lose any friends or family on that day. But, September 11th changed everything about our lives. Donating food and supplies, seeing people volunteer at Ground Zero, being selfless and uniting as a nation helped us to recover from the devastation. Patriotism was at an all time high, with people uniting (out of spite?) to say "We Will Survive. We will get over this, and we will be better than ever". It wasn't the only thing that changed. Everyday, and in every way the innocence and naïvete that I had, that we all had as a nation, was shattered. We now know that America isn't invincible. That at any moment, our world can be shaken up by an outside force. That race & religion are once again the basis for discrimination.
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