On the morning September 11, 2001, I was sitting in Mrs. Gustason’s social studies class with sixteen other students (we composed the entirety of the 8th grade at Martins Creek Elementary/Middle School). The phone rang. During the brief conversation her eyes grew wide and her hand rose to cover her mouth. She hung up and explained that there had been a “terrible accident” in New York. A television was wheeled to the front of the classroom and, after some fiddling, a news channel was switched on. Mrs. Gustason explained that one of the World Trade Center towers had been struck by an airliner, she used the phrase “terrible accident” again. We watched as smoke poured from the gaping floors two thirds of the way up the building.
Some of us remarked how we had been there together, just six months prior, on the annual 7th grade trip to Washington, D.C. and the Big Apple. Coming from a rural, public school in Appalachia, it is was remarkable that we had shared such a worldly experience. We sat, wide eyed, jaws lax, stunned by the pictures. We had all stood for a class picture at the observation deck that was now engulfed in billows of smoke. It was likely the only time that our chatty class was completely silent without a teacher’s provocation.
Then, the second plane hit. The video we were watching was clearly an automated picture from a nearby building... steady, clear, and unresponsive as the airliner tore into the building. You could hear the news anchor gasp when she realized what had just happened. Mrs. Gustason then turned the TV, still on, away from our view. Certainly, this was some terrible dream. “But, they said it was an accident...” someone in the class managed to stammer.
The rest of our classes for the day were cancelled. We were all given the opportunity to call our parents and, if we chose, we were allowed to go home. None of us did. We sat together, having known one another since kindergarten (save for me, the oddball, who moved in during 3rd grade), glued to the television screen. We watched the replay of the plane hitting from every conceivable angle. We rode the media constructed roller coaster to the highs and lows of hope, despair, disaster, repeat. We cried together and we talked about our theories but, mostly, we just absorbed. I think it would be adequate to say that we were all pretty traumatized. Certainly, we developed no such wounds as those who were present in New York might bear, but we were a bit shattered nonetheless. (In hindsight, I will never EVER allow my child to watch hours of news programming after a disaster.) Sadly, my perspective of the world became 5 shades more jaded that day. Certainly, at that point, I was fully aware that life was not rainbows and butterflies, but 9/11 gave me a solid, adult perspective about how perilous, how hateful, and how unpredictable this world can be.
On the morning of September 11, 2010, I woke up to sun pouring into my apartment through the glass sliding doors that lead to my patio. My first, fuzzy thought was the relieved realization that I had slept in past 9am. Since it was a Saturday, I had the luxury of staying in bed and cracking open the book on my bedside table. The night before had been deliciously relaxing. My Mercer colleagues had come over to celebrate the conclusion of the work-week and we had basked in my apartment’s pool while sipping Chang. I had intentionally left the day’s calendar wide-open so that I could indulge in lounging, reading, and studying; A welcome respite from the go-go-go agenda of a mega city.
It was probably noon before I even realized the date. It was a little odd to think about: 9 years prior I had been sitting in a classroom, glued to the 9/11 media frenzy, wondering if the world was going to spin out of control. I couldn’t remember for sure, but I am nearly certain that at some point on that day I had sworn never to get on an airplane again. I had likely ruled out any childhood dreams of traveling around the globe. Funny how life changes.
My mere presence in Bangkok (a.k.a traipsing around the world, in hot pursuit of ticks) proves, for lack of a better phrase, that the 9/11 terrorists didn’t win. It is really that simple. And, its not just me. Take a look around. Countless numbers of my colleagues from Mercer are pursuing education and serving others in a variety of locales around the globe. My generation, in general, is ‘going the distance’ in droves. Volunteering for Peace Corps, studying abroad, volunteering in relief efforts, and chasing the dream of saving the world. Life, for the most part, has exceeded pre-9/11 normalcy. Now, I’m sure there could be all sorts of political opposition to my previous statement and, frankly, I would probably agree with you. But, glazing over politics and the shit economy (this is some serious glazing, folks), life has never been better. I chalk it up to an unwavering national optimism. It takes incredible ingenuity, bravery, and compassion to face destruction and continue living in respect and appreciation for fellow humankind. And, for the most part, that is what has been done. Let’s keep it up, both on a personal and societal level.
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