Eight Years Later... A Silver Lining

As I'm sure we all remember, eight years ago today, our country's security blanket was violently and abruptly ripped off, as the nation stood frozen, horrified. At the time, I was only in high school and much too self involved and immature to understand the brevity of the situation or the idea that America would never be the same. (I did, however, ask my mom if it was inappropriate to still have my birthday party five days later.) In the years that have passed, however, I have grown up and each year that passes since that horrible day, I am able to recognize, respect, and appreciate it a little bit more.

Every September 11, we are bombarded with remembrance ceremonies and old news footage. Everyone drags out their red, white, and blue. (Except my dad who has, I think, approximately 12 9/11 remembrance shirts which he wears all year long. His patriotism is inspiring.) I think this is a good thing. Every September, the entire country claims "We will never forget" and I hope we don't. The memories that we all have, though they are all very different I'm sure, are a very real reminder that freedom does not come free. That we should feel lucky to live in our country, but remain cautious as we go about our day to day lives. That there are so many heroes in our lives, who should be thanked every single day for their bravery and service.


This summer, my mom and I took a trip to NYC for the day to see Wicked. While we were there, we had a few hours to wander around the city. Both of us very much wanted to go to the World Trade Center site, since my dad, as well as most of the men in my family, was a career firefighter. When we got there, I was a little bit disappointed. The site was, as I expected, basically a hole in the ground. There was, however, still an American flag flying overhead, which was comforting. Across the street from the Towers stood a very old, very small church. In the days and hours following the attacks, this became a hub for the wounded, the lost, the mourning, and the searching. My mom told me once that when she had to go to NYC on business very soon after the attacks, that the large, tall fence of the church was COVERED in 9/11 memories; shirts, stuffed animals, letters, candles, missing posters. I always wondered where all of that stuff had ended up.

We noticed that the gates to the cemetary in front of the church were open and people seemed to be milling around, looking at something. We wandered through and ended up inside. Well, as soon as I walked in, I found out where much of those things went. All over the church were artifacts, everyday objects captured in time, representing the pain and loss, as well as the patriotism and hopefulness of that day. As I said, my dad, as well as my brother and various uncles, are professional firefighters. The life of a "firefighter family" is different than any other in some ways. When I was younger, I thought it was perfectly normal for daddy to sleep somewhere else every 3rd day. Holidays are flexible, as they are celebrated when daddy isn't at work. You give up some of your time with him so that he can give other families more time with their loved ones. There were a number of items and stations dedicated to the firefighters and police personnel who lost their lives on 9/11. As I walked around, I was overwhelmed with an emotion so moving and devestating, that I struggle to put it into words. All I can say is that my eyes and my long buried wounds of 9/11 were both opened. I left the church that day praying for those who were lost and feeling so thankful and proud to be an American.

Today, the school I teach at had a spirit day called "Hero Day", where kids and teachers were encouraged to dress as their personal heroes. Since I work on a military base, most of the kids wore the clothes of their mom or dad's particular branch of the military. There were also a few doctors and even one Superman. (Clearly the point of the day went right over this child's, and the parents who let her out of the house in a Superman costume, heads.) I found it strange (ironic even ?) that the only two adults who particpated were myself and another teacher whose father is a retired firefighter. (Both of us wore our dad's work t-shirts. I was pretty proud to walk around in mine all day.) I mean, have we all forgotten how serious and important this day is already? Anyway, there was a moment of silence and a song about heroes on the anouncements and I was glad that it was recognized, even though none of the students were old enough to remember 2001.

As I discussed the historical event with my students, I was suddenly overwhelmed with fear. What if we DO forget? What if once all of us who were here, live and in person, for 9/11 are long gone, the footage stops? Hero Days don't exist, September 11th is just another fall day in America. I was calmed by the thought that my job allows me to pass this pride in my country, as well as my respect and remembrance for that day on to the future of our country. Of course, I kept details very minimal, short and to the point and uplifting. Hopefully my pride and seriousness about the subject will have rubbed off on them. And quite honestly, talking about it, even with a bunch of 7 year olds, helps to deal with the emotions that will never go away, that just remain deep down inside until next September.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that yes - September 11th will ALWAYS be a day of remembrance and sadness. However, it can also be a day of pride, hope, and growth. Today, and every other day, I am proud to be an American.