When I got to class the morning of 9/11, everyone was gathered around the radio- some kids were crying, while others remained in complete shock. I had absolutely no idea what was going on and was incapable of eliciting an “appropriate” reaction. Students had mentioned that the towers were struck, but the event had not hit home for me just yet. It was when I started walking home did I fully realize the impact of the disaster. The sky appeared completely surreal, as bits of burnt white paper slowly fell onto the ground and the stench of smoke filled the air. For a moment, I thought the neighbors were having a barbecue and was angry that I hadn’t been invited.
When I got home, the TV was already on, and I remember being the only one in the house. It was like the television screened a continuous reel of the same event- the towers being hit again and again. I remember praying, hoping that everybody was ok and that no one had gotten hurt, ignoring the anchors on CNN, continuously repeating the increasing death tolls.
The rest of the day remains a blur, but the feeling of utter hopelessness still resonates around me. At the time, I was nine years old and completely unaware of the disastrous effects of the attack. When I reflect on my naiive thoughts, I feel silly, but understand that the situation was out of my control. A part of me still hasn’t come to terms with what happened, and I continue to question the actions of those involved in the attacks.
9/11 has undoubtedly become a part of American history and a part of my history. The event still triggers memories and I know I realize the effects now, more than ever, on the tenth anniversary of the fall of the twin towers.
