It was a Tuesday. Just like today. I was in 5th grade finishing up my lunch when the principal rushed down the hallway and asked everyone to go to the auditorium. Okay, I thought, guess no recess today. I went and sat with my friends as she explained that the United States had been attacked. Terrorists had flown planes into the World Trade Center. I didn't even know what the WTC was. Terrorists? Here? Attacking us? That only happens in the Middle East at bus stops and pizza parlors. Why here? Why us?
I didn't get it. I didn't understand. Girls were crying, their parents worked in New York and were justifiably worried. I didn't have connections with New York. I didn't understand. When I went to see my dad at the end of the day, he couldn't refresh the LA Times website fast enough (NY Times was down completely). All we watched at home was the same video of the towers smoking and crumbling to the ground. It was the only thing on the news for days.
When I got to school the next day, we had homeroom for an hour or so at the beginning of the day (usually it was 15 minutes, max). We sat in a large circle, 45 girls talking about what they were feeling, what confused them, how we could be there for each other. It was a day like September 12, 2001 where I was really grateful to know every single girl in my grade. We were there to support each other and help each other through the hard times ahead. We muddled through the confusion of breaking news, disturbing videos, and emotional parents together.
An alumna from the school perished in 9/11. My dad taught her. It was hard to watch him go through the grieving process for a student I never knew, from a situation that was still hard for me to comprehend. We now have a memorial scholarship in her name--everyone at my school now knows who Johanna Sigmund is.
One of my friend's birthday is September 11. It never mattered 11 years ago that her birthday was 9/11. Now, it's different. It's still her birthday, but it's hard to wish her a happy birthday without thinking of the events of that Tuesday. The people who perished, the heroes who tried to save them, the country that was forever changed by the actions of a few. Happy Birthday Jen.
I didn't get it. I didn't understand. Girls were crying, their parents worked in New York and were justifiably worried. I didn't have connections with New York. I didn't understand. When I went to see my dad at the end of the day, he couldn't refresh the LA Times website fast enough (NY Times was down completely). All we watched at home was the same video of the towers smoking and crumbling to the ground. It was the only thing on the news for days.
When I got to school the next day, we had homeroom for an hour or so at the beginning of the day (usually it was 15 minutes, max). We sat in a large circle, 45 girls talking about what they were feeling, what confused them, how we could be there for each other. It was a day like September 12, 2001 where I was really grateful to know every single girl in my grade. We were there to support each other and help each other through the hard times ahead. We muddled through the confusion of breaking news, disturbing videos, and emotional parents together.
An alumna from the school perished in 9/11. My dad taught her. It was hard to watch him go through the grieving process for a student I never knew, from a situation that was still hard for me to comprehend. We now have a memorial scholarship in her name--everyone at my school now knows who Johanna Sigmund is.
One of my friend's birthday is September 11. It never mattered 11 years ago that her birthday was 9/11. Now, it's different. It's still her birthday, but it's hard to wish her a happy birthday without thinking of the events of that Tuesday. The people who perished, the heroes who tried to save them, the country that was forever changed by the actions of a few. Happy Birthday Jen.
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