The morning of September 11, 2011, I was at school. As a seventh grader at
Coleman Middle School, I sat in my homeroom class waiting for the school day to
begin. It was a normal day. I was a twelve-year-old concerned with the silly
things that usually occupy the minds of twelve-year-olds. As I walked into the girls’
locker room for my first period class, PE, I knew something unusual was going
on. No one was changing into their gym clothes. The girls' PE coach had pulled
a TV on a rolling stand into the middle of the locker room from her office as
she switched on the news. On the screen was a picture of a smoking plane stuck
in a smoking building. I was confused.
Why are we watching TV? Why are we
not changing out? What is going on? All of a sudden, one of the boys PE
coaches ran into the room. With tears in his eyes, he pulled the girls coaches
into their office and they began talking. He started crying.
Okay, if a
grown man is crying, this has to be really really bad, I thought to myself.
I later learned that his brother was a firefighter in New York City. We all sat
around watching the news until it was time to go to second period. When I
arrived at my second period, language arts class, I saw that the news was once
again on. We all just sat there in shock. My mother soon arrived at school,
like so many of the other worried parents, to sign up out. I remember following
her down the hallway, jogging to catch up, as she asked, "Do you know what
is going on?" I told her yes, and she told me how serious it was. All I
remember of the few days afterwards was seeing all of the horrific pictures on
the television of what was going on in New York City, the Pentagon, and Pennsylvania. I couldn't believe that
anyone could hate Americans so much as to do so much damage to one of the most
beautiful cities in the world. Who has that much hate in their hearts? The
images of burning people jumping out of the World Trade Centers, of smoke
choking the air, of the worried people searching for their loved ones... these
are the images that will forever be seared into my mind.
September 11, 2001 was a terrible day that I will never forget. It did so
much damage to our country. At the same time though, I remember during the
aftermath, something was different. It seemed like everyone in our country, at
least for a short period of time, stopped arguing with each other and instead,
turned their eyes towards New York. Miles away, we cried with them, we prayed
for them, we supported them. For a time, we were more united that I had ever
seen our country before. We were all determined to help New York, and the rest
of the country, heal.
For several years following that dreadful day, we always remembered what
happened. The news would continue to show footage of the smoke, victims, and
rubble. We remembered the fallen. At school, they played taps at the same time
of day that the planes crashed. We remembered what happened.
As the years have gone by, I believe that we have slowly forgotten what that
day did to all of us. At school, the date on the board would read
"September 11" and yet, no one would acknowledge what that day meant.
The news showed less and less footage. No taps were played. We all began to
forget what happened. We have too many things going on in our lives now that we
think are much more important. But that isn't true. That day forever changed
our lives and the history of our country.
So today, September 11, 2013, I urge you to remember. Remember what happened
that day. Remember the people who lost their lives. Remember the families who
lost loved ones. Remember the ones who survived and will forever be haunted by
what they saw. Remember the injured. Remember our heroes who went into action
to put out the fires. Remember the ones who rescued so many survivors. Remember
the ones who searched for days to find all of the lost. Remember the ones who
arrived to serve and protect us. Remember the men and women who signed up to
serve overseas in order to prevent something like that ever happening again.
Remember.
