September 11, 2001 was the second day of the first full week of fifth grade. I was at a new school because we'd moved to a new house. I decided it had been enough time that I could wear my first day of school outfit again: red sundress, white t-shirt, blue denim vest. I came out for breakfast and saw two things happening that never, ever happened in our house before school started: the TV was on, and Mom was on the phone. All that was on the TV was smoke and nothing was being said that told me what was happening. Mom's side of the conversation wasn't revealing anything either. She took us to school like normal--or as much as she could in the stress she was obviously under.
Mrs. Mauradian told us that planes had been flown into the World Trade Center in New York City, and that they didn't know who or why. Nick, the boy sitting next to me, was "student of the week," had a small gold-painted Statue of Liberty on his desk, and he knocked it over with dramatic sound effects, predicting she was next. We had class as normally as we could.
After recess came the news of the planes that crashed in Pennsylvania ("probably on its way to Camp David," the news said then) and the Pentagon. After lunch, the towers were falling (had fallen?).
That's what I remember about the day of. I remember watching the news with my parents in the days and weeks after, sitting on the table while Dad talked to Mom about Afghanistan in the kitchen. My uncle was serving his mission in New Jersey at the time. We saw the pictures he took that day.
9/11 and its aftermath was the first news story I ever followed. It was how I found out the world is scary and broken and complicated. The habit of news-following that emerged therefrom is part of why I chose to study government.
My generation was forced to grow up then. Some of us a little, some of us more. That's not something you forget.
Mrs. Mauradian told us that planes had been flown into the World Trade Center in New York City, and that they didn't know who or why. Nick, the boy sitting next to me, was "student of the week," had a small gold-painted Statue of Liberty on his desk, and he knocked it over with dramatic sound effects, predicting she was next. We had class as normally as we could.
After recess came the news of the planes that crashed in Pennsylvania ("probably on its way to Camp David," the news said then) and the Pentagon. After lunch, the towers were falling (had fallen?).
That's what I remember about the day of. I remember watching the news with my parents in the days and weeks after, sitting on the table while Dad talked to Mom about Afghanistan in the kitchen. My uncle was serving his mission in New Jersey at the time. We saw the pictures he took that day.
9/11 and its aftermath was the first news story I ever followed. It was how I found out the world is scary and broken and complicated. The habit of news-following that emerged therefrom is part of why I chose to study government.
My generation was forced to grow up then. Some of us a little, some of us more. That's not something you forget.
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