For some reason I've been a lot more touched by all of the posts on social media about 9/11 this year than I have in the past. Maybe part of it is I am a lot less numb, and more open to my emotions. Maybe part of it is I have learned better how to connect with people, so the reality of what happened that day has sunk in more.
I was six years old at the time, sitting in the corner of our family room, watching Clifford, the Big Red Dog with my brother, who had just turned four. Clifford wasn't my favorite, but it was better than whatever was on the other PBS station at that given half hour.
My parents suddenly came rushing downstairs, my mom holding my baby brother. My dad took the remote and changed the channel. I protested, we had been watching first! He was turning to the news, which was boring. Suddenly I was really interested in watching Clifford.
Two really tall buildings were on fire. I probably asked what happened. I don't remember if my parents told me, or if I found out by replays of the planes hitting. I didn't care so much about my TV show anymore, and the news didn't seem quite as boring. (My parents had actually only heard about the Pentagon on the radio, they didn't find out about New York until coming downstairs)
I watched in amazement as the first tower fell. I think I actually missed most of it, I was too busy asking questions or had gotten bored of watching coverage of buildings on fire. My parents eventually went upstairs, but I was glued to the screen. Only one building was there now, and I watched that one fall. I ran upstairs to tell my mom, who was changing my brother's diaper. She just nodded sadly.
I didn't understand why she didn't rush down to see. It was exciting to my six-year old mind. It didn't occur to me that there would still be people in the buildings, they had been on fire for long enough that everyone would have gotten out, right? I was more concerned about the people that were in the planes that had crashed. I knew they didn't have a chance.
I saw the footage of the Pentagon, and the field in Pennsylvania. I was confused as to why and how a plane crashed into a field. I think that flight was the one I thought most about.
I had no idea how much my life would change that day. I actually remember very little about the world before that day. I think it made me aware of the world in general. I had last been on a plane as an infant, so had no memory of planes, I didn't even know at that point that I had ever been on one. I became scared of the idea of flying on a plane. I watched the news a lot. I wanted to know more about what happened. Keep in mind, I was SIX years old.
Shortly after it all happened I had a nightmare where a plane crashed into our driveway. I was scared that it really would happen (I really didn't have a sense of how big a plane actually is). I asked my parents what we would do if that were to happen. They tried to tell me it wouldn't, but finally calmed my fears by telling me a plane would hit our neighbor's two-story house before hitting our one-story house, let alone our driveway.
I learned a lot about patriotism. We put up our flag. There was a memorial program on TV with music and flags and speakers. It aired on EVERY CHANNEL. Well, all except one. That was an education channel and had a math program with a hand writing on a whiteboard, which I thought was funny. I thought it was incredible though that everyone would be playing the same thing, and flipped through the channels when my parents left the room.
I was sad. I was sad for the people who had died on the planes. I was sad for the people I found out didn't make it out of the buildings. I was sad the buildings had collapsed. I drew a picture on the computer of the planes hitting each location. I don't know if that file still exists. If it does, I don't currently have access to it. It somehow helped me to cope. Even years later.
This was also when I started paying attention to politics. I remember watching President Bush talking about the terrorists. I remember hearing about going to war. I thought that World War III was going to start. My uncle was deployed. Some friends moved in a couple years later whose dad was deployed.
I heard about all of these bad things, but I also heard the good stories. That the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania was supposed to crash into another building, but the people on board didn't let that happen. That people were coming together to help the families, the people in New York, and they found survivors in the rubble. People didn't go to work that day for whatever reason, and they were safe.
I still hear stories of good things that happened. One of my favorites is of the people in Gander, Newfoundland, Canada that were so hospitable to the people who were stranded in Gander because their flights were grounded there. I'd only hear that one in the past few years, after having visited Gander several times and talking about it often.
Why is it that so often it is tragedy that brings us together? It doesn't have to be something world changing like 9/11, it could be something like a timely death in the family, wildfires threatening cities, as is currently happening in my state, a person going missing.
How do we instead come together before tragedy strikes? I don't know the answer, but I have some ideas of things that I've seen bring people together for happy reasons. The arrival of a new baby, a wedding, the return of someone living away for an extended time, a weekly book or game group, a friendly sporting activity (cough, cough, including swordfighting), a graduation, a birthday or anniversary.
I hope that we can begin to bring each other together more. This world needs it, especially as it tries to pull itself apart. I know that with the right mindset we can begin to make a difference in small ways.
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