Sunday, September 11, 2011

Never Forget

10 years. 10 years is a long time. Long enough for me to graduate college and earn a Master's Degree. Long enough for me to build a career as a college administrator. Long enough for me to marry and become a mother to three children. But yet, it still seems like yesterday.

September 11, 2001.

I was in my second year of college. On Tuesday mornings, I was a peer leader to an 8am section of Freshman Year Experience. I was leading class that day but I can't at all remember the topic of discussion. About 8:55, the Administrative Assistant for the Learning Center came to let me know a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. She said they thought it was an accident. In my mind, I envisioned a small prop plane. I dismissed class at 9am and walked down the hall to the main lobby where there was a large TV. The room wasn't crowded but there were several people watching the events unfold. At 9:03 when the second plane hit, the entire room gasped in unison, very aware that this was not an accident. As the minutes passed, the room continued to fill with people. No one was going to class. No one talked. Silence enveloped us.

The news coverage seemed so chaotic. And I think the nature of the live coverage made it all that much more traumatic. When it became apparent that a plane had hit the Pentagon, I turned to one of my history professors sitting next to me and whispered "Islamic terrorists." She shook her head in agreement. I remember feeling afraid. What would happen next? Where was my family? Was I watching Armageddon? In a room full of people, I felt painfully alone.

As the South Tower of the World Trade Center collapsed, I looked to my right. to see my Chemistry professor. He had tears streaming down his face. I put my hand to my face and realized that I did too. A University official came to notify us that class was cancelled for the rest of the day. No one moved. It wasn't until the news reported that a plane had crashed in Pennsylvania that I felt compelled to move. I needed to call my Mom. I needed to do something to help.

As I talked to my mom from my cell phone, I drove through town. I ended up at the blood center. Surely they would need blood for the victims. So I went there, hoping that giving some of my life might help save others. People were wrapped around the building. Apparently, a lot of other people felt compelled to something to help too. I gave blood that day, hours after I arrived. Instead of just waiting in line, I went to the door and asked the woman there how I could help them. She said I could answer the phone. So I did. Others wanted to pitch in too. We handed out drinks, took information cards, gave away snacks. We needed to experience order, to create it, in a moment that was completely shrouded in chaos.

September 11, 2011

I can't help but think about that ill-fated morning. The morning that America lost her innocence. The morning we realized that oceans could no longer protect us from the evil that brewed beyond our borders. I can't help but think about the people that went to work or boarded planes that morning and never saw their loved ones again. So much evil witnessed.

But as I was talking to the boys about 9/11, they wanted to know what I remembered most. I can recall every detail, every move I made that day. I told them the basic story. But I also told them the story about how terrorists, no matter how much they wanted to destroy America, could not succeed. Yes they could hijack airplanes and they could destroy our buildings, but they could not destroy all that was good and noble about us. They couldn't destroy the selfless nature that is ingrained in the American spirit.

When it was ordered for people to run away, there were fire, EMS and police personnel that ran toward the danger to save lives. There were every day people that lent a helping hand to perfect strangers to get them to safety. There were workers that went up the stairs at the WTC to search for survivors instead of going down. There were F-16 pilots prepared to use their planes as kamikazes to ram unresponsive planes out of the air because there had been no time to arm them with weapons. And there were the passengers of Flight 93. Knowing that their plane was on a suicide mission, they accepted their fate. But rather than go down as a victim, they chose to do everything they could to ensure that terrorism would not win. They used the defiant resolve so common in America to bring the plane down over Pennsylvania before it could strike the Capitol. I told the boys about how our pain and our grief gave way to unity. Unity led to resolve. America would not rest until justice was done. Our military has carried that burden and made that sacrifice for the last 10 years.

As we go forward, we have to find a way to recapture that unity. Victory over terrorism comes not just from military superiority, but in the ability of Americans to enjoy economic prosperity and social equality. We have to find a way to have differences without being divisive. We have to remember that what divides us isn't nearly as great as what unifies us. After all, 10 years ago, we proved that in the face of terror, every day Americans---of all different races, ethnicity's and genders---were heroes. That, we should never forget.

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