Remembering 9/11

I've tried five times to find the right words to start this blog, and nothing seems good enough to fit the situation so I went to my lesson plan book, to the entry from September 12th, 2001 to look for inspiration.  I have no idea what I taught that day, partly because I was in a fog, but mostly because I only had seven little words written in the block for that day:

"The day prayer came back to school."

Mr. Jerry Winkle, the principal at Ponca City High School at the time, came over the intercom and forgot all about political correctness.  He forgot all about political lines in the sand.  Our nation had been bored for way too long and in that boredom decided to overthink everything, including in what ways we can ban God.  Seeing as our nation needed God at that, our weakest moment, Mr. Winkle got on the intercom and prayed for peace and understanding. 

And we wept. 

A few days later, President George W. Bush stood on top of the rubble that was a great building and promised America that we would seek justice for those who perished in the worst terrorist attack on American soil ever. "The people who knocked these buildings down will hear from all of us soon!"   His approval rating that day was 94%.  Firefighters and police officers were heroes, not taken for granted or sneered at.  America was united.

And we wept.

It's so hard to believe that it's been 10 years since that tragic day that has shaped part of who I am today.  Nearly 1/3 of my life has been affected by that horrible day when America lost its innocence.  Sadly my students have never truly known an America at peace, and I weep for their loss of innocence as well.

I have many lasting memories from Tuesday, September 11th, 2001, but the one that sticks out in my mind is where I was at 9:15 CST.  One of my students had come back from the library 45 minutes late and when I questioned him, he said he was busy "in the library watching the plane hit the building."  I had in my mind that if indeed he was telling the truth, a single-engined Cesna was sticking out of some building somewhere, but then the bell rang and I walked out into the hallway. 

It was like being part of a zombie movie.  All the students had the "deer-in-the-headlights" look.  Nobody talked, and the sound of a high-school hallway without noise except for the shuffling of feet on a worn-down carpet is an eerie one.  Two cheerleaders came up the stairway from the right, both crying and holding each other.  I was totally bewieldered.  The bell rang then the strangest thing happened.

One girl came skipping down the hallway like a child in a field of daisies, singing, "It's the end of the world as we know it!"  I'm quite certain the look on my face was one of incredulity.

My second period students helped me fill in the gaps, and my mind turned to the unsuccessful attack on the WTC in '93.  I then knew that I was living in the midst of history.  The lesson plan for that day was scrapped and my classes walked to the auditorium where a projector was set up with a live feed of the smoldering Lower Manhattan.  It was then that I lost my innocence.

The details of the rest of my day aren't as important.  I, like every other American family, sat on the couch, glued to the TV, trying to make any sense out of what was going on. 

In one day our world had changed.  In one day we went from seeing the violence of war on television bouncing off a satellite from across an ocean to seeing it in our own backyard.  Ten years removed from that fateful day, I pray that our world is safer.  I pray that good will win out over evil  And I pray that we can look back to the lessons of that day, come together as a country, and for at least one day, not concentrate on what separates Americans, but on one word that unites us.  That word I leave up to you.