It was a new school year, my first in the school district where I later received tenure for the second time. The book salesman was late for our introductory meeting. When he arrived he was flustered and he apologized in a distracted fashion.
”A plane flew into one of the twin towers,” he told me.
I immediately pictured a small, perhaps four passenger, plane piloted, obviously, by some rube taking flying lessons. How else could something like this occur?
We went to my desktop computer and witnessed, together, the second large commercial jet fly into the other tower. What was happening?
He left, our appointment now pointless. A teacher I had not yet met but who brought to mind both Ernest Hemingway and Santa Claus, entered the library with his class of Participation in Government seniors. They were there because we had one of the limited number of televisions available in the building. There was an undercurrent of nervous laughter but the kids were mostly quiet. The teacher introduced himself as the kids gathered in a semi circle around the screen, standing near to one another for a view and, perhaps, comfort.
”Osama Bin Laden did this,” he* said to me.
I had never heard that name before. A short while later we were dismissed from school and I drove to gather my two (at the time) sons from daycare. Once home, I watched the news as ash covered people fled the World Trade Center on streets which were familiar to me until my oldest child asked “Why do the buildings keep falling down?” The television went off.
Twenty three years later, I still remember –
- the color of sky. It was a magnificent blue.
- the breathtaking fear of not knowing if, when or where the next attack would occur.
- the silence of the sky as all flights were grounded leaving the heavens with nothing to hear other than the sorrows of those who had lost their beloveds.
- the kindness and unity and pride in the resiliency of a country I was proud to have been born in.
Twenty-three years after the most deadly terrorist attack ever committed, there was a string of SNN text messages relaying information about threats to the school district where I’ve recently begun my 20th year. Now the threat is ever present and comes most frequently from within our borders.
I asked my students, who are half as many years old as 9/11 was years ago, if they knew the significance of the date. Three out of 20 raised their hands.
*In an extreme contrast to the unexpected immediacy of the loss of life to an act of terror, now, more than two decades later, the strength and wisdom of the teacher who became my friend is debilitated by the slow death march of Parkinson’s.
DelSo 