It’s strange how vivid some moments look in our memory. One memory that nearly everyone can remember perfectly, is where they were during the attack on September 11, 2001. Where were you?
I was in fourth grade, in Mrs. Henstchel’s class. We had just taken a spelling test, when one of the fifth grade teachers came and pulled my teacher out of class. We did what most fourth graders would do, we started talking loudly, and laughing about the fact that we were left alone. When the teacher comes in, she tells us to be quiet, and to wait for an announcement. A few minutes later, the principal comes on the P.A. system announcing the students who’s parents were coming to get them. Among those students were me and my brother. At that point I knew something must have happened because my mom NEVER took us out of school early. The only other time was for the flood of Hurricane Floyd in 2nd grade, and even then, she didn’t come get us. Our neighbors decided that we should go home. Someone asked what was going on, She just said that we were all going home early, and that our parents would explain. I guess the school thought we were too young to understand.
When my we got home, she explained to us that when she was in school, and Kennedy was assassinated, schools were closed and students were told to not watch TV, and just to pray. She told me that I didn’t have to watch the news with her if I didn’t want to. But I desperately wanted to know what was going on. So, I sat and I watched. I watched the video footage of the second plane hitting the tower. And then A local news story of a man kicking down grave stones came on, because he was so angry.
I don’t think I will ever forget that. My father tells this story some times, about the next summer, we were driving down to Florida for vacation. When we stopped in North Carolina, we were parked next to a group of guys who were playing music out of their truck, and seemed to be having a damn good time. My dad went to them and asked what they were celebrating. One of the guys referred to the other guys as his brothers. My dad asked what fraternity they were in, and the guy told us that they were New York Firemen, and they were delivering a piece of the South Tower to the firemen in South Carolina, because they were the first out of state firemen to volunteer to come and help out on 9/11. The only time I ever seen my father cry is when he tells that story. I will never forget that day either.
Where were you?
((Writing prompt from http://www.kludgymom.com/idea-bank/ ))