Any Other Day

(Me and my littlest girls.)

Today my kids woke up as I was finishing my quiet time, and I was greeted by a chorus of little voices calling my name (which is "Mommy", of course).  They grinned at me, and laughed with each other, and ran to make their beds and get dressed before breakfast.

Today is just like any other day to them.

For the first time, I realized this summer that while 9/11 will always be a vivid memory in my mind, from here on out all brand-new, 18-year-old adults are people who were not even born then.  There is a whole generation of kids who will only read about 9/11 in the history books, the way I read about Pearl Harbor.  My kids are in that group.

That is so bizarre to me.  Because my memory is crystal clear of my mom rushing into my room one morning to tell me to get upstairs quickly to watch the news.  A plane had crashed into a building.  I had no idea what she was talking about, I thought it must be a history program she wanted us to watch for school.  So I had another half hour of living in my own pre-9/11 world while I got ready for the day.

I remember being glued to the TV for the rest of the morning.  I remember seeing black specks falling from the building and realizing with horror that those were people.  I remember sitting in silence, watching the first tower fall. Then the second.  I remember seeing the clouds of debris taking over the streets, swallowing people on the streets.  First responders covered in gray dust.  I remember the black scar on the Pentagon building, the news that another plane had crashed in a field.  I remember when everyone realized that this wasn't just an accident.

That afternoon I needed a break, and I went outside for a walk.  Yellow aspen leaves rustling in the breeze.  A blue, blue sky, and autumn in the air.  I thought, and I prayed, and maybe I grew up a little right then.

I remember how the country pulled together afterward.  I remember how for a little while we weren't Democrats or Republicans, we were only Americans.  Maybe that was the one good thing to come out of the horrible tragedy of that day, that we all had the chance to know what being united feels like.

I don't know if schools even teach kids about that day as history yet, but they should.  I know I plan to educate my children about 9/11 and tell them my story.  But maybe not yet.  They are small still, and prone to nightmares.   Maybe I just want them to be little a while longer before they fully know what kind of place the world can be.

But some year soon I'll pull open the news footage on my computer or we'll watch a documentary, and I'll make sure they know.  About the towers that fell, planes that were used as weapons, heroes who ran toward the danger, and countrymen who were lost.  I want them to remember what happened that day, even if it feels like distant history to them.  I'll tell them my memory of 9/11, just as I hope others are doing with their children who are old enough.

I would hope this day is commemorated, some of the footage shown, those who died honored in memory forever.  So that even those who don't remember would never forget.


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Bekah said...

Every year, I set aside this day to watch all the documentaries all day long. It's something I do to try to honor the stories of those who lost their lives or were injured that day. I didn't know anyone involved, but that day marked me, and this is how I choose to honor and remember.

Elizabeth said...

I'll definitely tell my kids about this day, so intense. Your post also reminded me that I want my kids to interact with the older generations too and hear their stories. I'm not even in the habit of asking my own parents how they reacted to certain historical events. I feel like my dad especially has lots of stories to tell. There's something unique about that kind of testimony.

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