Where were you and what were you doing on September 11, 2001? Everybody asks that question these days. But, lately, they’ve been asking for another story: what have you done in the 10 years since then and what are you doing today? And so, to commemorate the 10 year anniversary of September 11th, I give you my 9/11 story.
On September, 11, 2001, I was 12 and in 7th grade at Southfield Christian School (S.C.S. [located at 12 mile and Lahser Rd. in Southfield, MI]). It was a normal day of school for me. Classes started at 8 a.m. and ended at 3 p.m. Lunch was at about noon, depending on what grade you were in. S.C.S., back then, had a secondary school instead of a middle and high school, so I shared hall and classroom space with the high schoolers. Everything was running normally until about midday, when there started to be rumblings of a big event on the news. Some of the older kids, or those kids who had classes, such as social studies, first period were allowed to watch some of the coverage. But, since I was neither “older” or enrolled in any early social studies classes, I was left wondering what was going on.
I remember trying to figure it out. I was standing by the window in drama class, staring at an empty playground and a near cloudless, pale blue, sunny, eerily still September sky. The woman walking into our school building almost seemed out of place. The younger, elementary school kids, including my younger sister, Julia (9, at the time), and my younger brother, Nathan (5, at the time) had not been let out for recess, my friend had told me, because something bad had happened. Usually, recess was cancelled only for bad weather, like a thunderstorm, blizzard, tornado, or extreme temperatures. Also, the sky was empty of planes flying to and fro from Detroit Metro Airport, something which one could usually see, and hear, for miles around. Puzzled, I returned to my seat. It was located in the back of the room, close to the removable panel that divided our classroom from the next one over. Through it, I could hear a t.v. blaring. As class started, I tried to make out what was being said. “Plane… crashed… the World Trade Center”, I believe was the extent of what I heard.
Yet, I didn’t really hear about what happened until I got home that day and watched the news. I was shocked and a little scared. But, mostly, I didn’t understand. I had never heard the words “World Trade Center”, “Pentagon”, “terrorism”, “al Qaeda”, or “Osama bin Laden” in my [short] life before. All I could/can do was/is to read, discuss, and try to understand what happened. But, something in me grew up that day…. my naivety started to wane… my world was no longer as safe as I thought it was…. it motivated me to lend my voice, and those of countless others, to my democracy. “Maybe, if whoever it was who hijacked that plane knew, really knew, their voice was heard and listened to, they may not have felt the need to do such a thing”, I reasoned. That’s why, when I turned 18, I took voting so seriously: because my voice, I knew, counted.
Otherwise, I spent most of the 10 years since then growing up and watching, on the sidelines, the effects of September 11, 2001. I kept updated. I expressed my opinions to those I knew and loved and was not afraid to make them known.
Of course, some things indirectly affected me. My friend and bully, Kary*, would now shout “Osama bomb” as a precursor to slamming me into the wall, while laughing hysterically. My dad now was reading “One Tuesday Morning” by Karen Kingsbury, fictionally describing the events of the attack. I had to deal with the sadness of my friend, Laura*, when her cousin was deployed to Iraq. I don’t remember if he ever came back or not*. I suddenly had to write papers describing the magnanimity of 9/11 or events related to it. 9/11, and other such words, became a part of my everyday vocabulary. Suddenly, airport security felt ominous. Everything from them checking my ticket at the front of the line, to waiting in line, to putting all of my carry-ons, my shoes, and practically half of me into gray boxes (which go through an x-ray) to walking through the scanner to re-gathering everything afterwards was, and still is, just nerve-wracking. It’s not that I’m actually a terrorist, but that I’m scared they will find something, like the wrong metal in my belt or whatever, and label me as one. Ay!
This though, I find ridiculous: Julia was patted down a couple of weeks ago when she was flying out to San Francisco for a week-long vacation with my Aunt Natalie. The gal would never hurt a fly [seriously- she hates bugs- she used to have me “rescue” her when we were little from ladybugs she found in our house], but she got patted down anyways. The security guy told her that they had a quota of how many men and women they were supposed to pat down per day. She and the guy behind her were the last ones. Seriously?!? This took place in Detroit Metro Airport.
I think the closest 9/11 ever hit home for me was when the underwear bomber was thwarted on Christmas Day last year. If that plane had exploded or come down, it could have very well been over my house or of those I know and love. Detroit… that’s my city…. and… I’m tearing up here…. it both frightens me and saddens me that this guy would want to attack it… on Christmas Day, no less. That’s one freak Santa, if you ask me.
Now, 10 years later, I’m 22 years old and still in college. I just started attending Oakland University (O.U.), a local university, about a week ago, after obtaining my associate’s degree in Global Studies from Oakland Community College (O.C.C.) in June. While my diploma is still on it’s way, I feel a sense of accomplishment and hope to continue on at O.U. to earn my bachelor’s degree in Journalism. Maybe one day I can make my voice heard and give a voice to others who need to be heard. I spent the day working at my part-time lifeguarding job at Huron Valley Pools and Fitness, located at Milford and Lakeland High Schools, moving tomato plants around in my organic garden, writing about and researching the 9/11 10th anniversary, and gazing up at the cloudy, pale blue, September sky, just thinking and remembering.
*Note: To protect the privacy of those persons mentioned here, the last names of these two people have been eliminated.
*September 25, 2011: I received the following Facebook message from Laura: “I have good news about your question about whether or not my cousin made it out of the Middle East. He did!”
The Rose 