Today, We Remember

Every generation has its day. There is a day where everyone from that period can point to and remember where they were, what was happening, and what their reaction was. You cannot, though many commercial enterprises try, to artificially fasten or decide what day this will be. It simply is. For our grandparents it may be Pearl Harbor. For our parents it may be the falling of the Berlin Wall, or the Moon landing. For me and my generation, it is September 11, 2001.

I remember that morning. Nine years ago I was fifteen, and like any other fifteen year old boy, I would routinely sleep in until the crack of noon. Being homeschooled facilitated this greatly, since I was very industrious once awake and could complete my school work at any time of the day. I fell asleep after a good bout of Playstation the previous night and awoke much earlier than intended when my grandmother opened my door shouting “New York is under attack! Plans are attacking New York City!” In my half-asleep mind I envisioned jet fighters exploding over the cityscape. Despite this, and much to my chagrin now, I remember debating with myself whether or not it was worth getting up for. Eventually I decided it was and rolled out of bed. I walked out of my bedroom and into a nightmare.

Every member of my family was perched, motionless, around the TV. I don’t remember the sounds. Perhaps my family was crying, or yelling, or talking. For me, it was silence. Nothing existed except the images on the screen. I saw the one tower burning as newscasters played the scene of the crash over and over again. Debate raged back and forth on the screen as to how this happened.

And that’s when the second one hit.

I was so numb. It didn’t register at first. My mind saw the images, the second ball of flame, but it didn’t register. Once it did, everything turned red. Once I realized the terrible thing that was unfolding before my eyes all I could feel was rage. I ran into my room, grabbed my bamboo walking stick just to have something to squeeze.

I am a proud Virginian, and like any good Virginian I have a healthy distaste for those damn Yankees from north of the Mason-Dixon line. At that moment, though, all I could think was that this was my country under attack. Those were my fellow Americans who were burning and dying before my mind’s eye. I felt so helpless, so powerless, so unable to do anything to stop it.

That was my day. Even so many hundreds of miles distant, occurring in a city I’d never seen, to people I’d never met, that day affected me to my soul. I know I wasn’t the only one. Flags were everywhere. Congress sang “God Bless America” on the steps of the Capitol. People weren’t rich or poor, liberal or conservative, northern or southern. For one day we were all simply American.

One thing that September 11th demonstrated beyond doubt is that, when the threat looms, despite the sometimes brutal infighting that plagues our society, Americans can put aside our seemingly insurmountable differences and bind as a family.

I am not even able to write this in one sitting. Even so, much of this has been typed through teary eyes. Why should I share something that affected me so personally to all the world? Because we have to. Because we cannot forget what happened, or blunt to pain, or minimize its importance.

We have to remember.