September 11th, 2001. Tuesday morning. A five year old girl woke up in her horse sheeted bed, just like every other morning. Her older sister had already left to go to school. She was in 7th grade. Her mother dressed the young girl and brought her downstairs to have breakfast. It was probably dinosaur oatmeal. That was her favorite. The girl was in kindergarten, so school didn’t start for a little while longer. When the time came, she was put on the bus, bus 19, then sent off to a normal day of school. Elementary school started at roughly 8:30am. The girl had morning kindergarten, so she would be getting out at roughly noon. The morning consisted of normal activities. Coloring, reading and other projects. The teacher had gotten a couple phone calls and pulled the room aid aside a couple times, but the little girl and her classmates carried on with their work. They paid no mind. They didn’t know that 20 minutes after school started, that first phone call was about a plane crashing into the North Tower. Their day was trying to be kept as normally as possible. Then the phone rang again, shortly after 9am. The 5 year olds paid no mind to it; the phones always rung, it was normal. Little did they know, another plane has hit the South Tower, in a fiery explosion. They didn’t know all flight traffic was being halted, that there were 2 other planes, yet to crash and take away more lives. They didn’t know terrorists took over those planes and our nation was now under attack. They only knew the color of the crayon they were using to make their pictures. 40 minutes passes and the children are still working, playing, having fun. The Pentagram was hit, “Someone stole my crayons!!!” Major landmarks were evacuated, along with all of Manhattan. “So-And-So pushed me!!!!” 9:59am. It was probably snack time for the kids. It was probably over 1,000 peoples last breath as the South Tower collapsed. Minutes later? A plane crashes into a field in Pennsylvania. The children’s day continues on. It’s been nearly 2 hours since that first phone call. The North Tower collapses.
Once the school day is over, the girl packs up her backpack and is sent on bus 19 again. She comes home to her smiling mother, a warm hug and a ‘how was your day!’ Her mothers face was pale and tear stricken, but she didn’t pay any mind to it.The girl continues her playing in another room while her mother sneaks upstairs into her bedroom to try and watch the news unfold. The mother wanted to keep her daughter as far away from the television as possible. She didn’t know how to explain a terrorist attack to a kindergartner.
The girls sister comes homes, also distressed. She was in 7th grade and came home a little before 3pm. The 12 year old had just spent her whole day, watching the news. She watched every event unfold as it happened. The 5 year old was kept from the terror going on around her. Her father came home around 5pm and no one talked about the news during dinner. The girl was sent to bed at her normal time and drifted off to sleep, wrapped safely in her cowboy and horses bedspread.
That was my day, September 11th, 2001.
I barely remember that day, but from what my mother, sister and father have told me, I managed to piece things together. My mother did eventually tell me about the planes crashing into the buildings, putting it in a retrospect so that a five year old could understand. As I got older, I was able to understand things more, and each year, on the anniversary of 9/11, I was able to watch more and more of the footage.
This year I entered 10th grade and turned 15. The Friday before the 10th year anniversary, I was able to listen to the brilliant Dan Holdridge, a survivor of the Pentagon attack who told us his story and made a large impact on my life in just an hour an a half. I learned I’m not entitled to anything and everything is a privilege. I’m not entitled to my education, my useless junk and clothing I beg my mother to buy, the roof over my head and the job I hope to get when I grow up. Saturday night I stayed up until 1 am, watching the news from that day play out and other documentaries. Today, September 11th, 2011, I’m not watching the television. I’ve seen enough to make me sick. Instead, I’m taking nothing for granted and spending it with the people who matter the most; my family. And I hope you are too.
Every day is a blessing. Every day could be your last day. My heart goes out to each and every one of the people on that day who lost a loved one; A mother, a father, a sister, a brother, a cousin, a grandparent, a son, a daughter, a friend. As of today, I’m living my life differently. The 10th anniversary is marking many new beginnings, including mine, a mere 15 year old girl who will use every little chance she gets to prevent another 9/11 from happening. Hold hands, not hand grenades.
And God Bless The U.S.A.