Never Forget

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.