September 11, 2001: Eleven Years Later

It was a beautiful day-not a cloud in the sky. I drove from our condo in Sterling, Virginia into Vienna, Josh in his car seat in the back, on our way to school where he attended preschool and I worked in the front office. It was a normal day. I took Josh down to his classroom, and walked back to the front of the school, preparing to help with morning drop off. By 8:15, students and teachers were in their classrooms and school began.

A little before 9:00 am, my mom called to tell me a plane had flown into the World Trade Center. It was horrible news, and confusing, because something would have to go terribly wrong for a jet to fall that low and lose all navigation ability. I said a silent prayer for all those people, not really understanding how devastating a plane crashing into a sky scraper was. About 20 minutes later, Mom called back, and said another plane had flown into the other tower. We were being attacked, by our own planes, in the country’s most diverse, most populated city.

I hung up, and ran into the principal’s office, interrupting her parent meeting. The phone rang again; it was my mom, and this time she said there were more planes unaccounted for, and it was believed that at least two of them were headed 20 minutes away from us, into Washington DC. Mrs. Logan, our principal, initiated lock down. Security codes I had never memorized were snatched from my desk drawer, and the office staff began pushing numbered pads, locking the school. Then the plane hit the Pentagon.

We had so many students with parents who worked at the Pentagon, so many with parents who were diplomats downtown, worked at the CIA, were in the White House that very minute, and those students were hysterical. Our phones were ringing off the hook with calls from parents, nannies, grandparents, siblings, trying to find their child, making sure they were safe. An onslaught of adults came tearing through campus, flashing identification if we did not know them, hugging their kids, and taking them home. I remember standing outside, on the lawn, across the walkway from a parent who worked in Langley. We were both staring up at the clear, blue sky, and realizing that there was no sound. There were no commercial airplanes in the sky. Then, as we looked at one another, 4 military jets zoomed by, contrails in their wake.

“It’s like a science fiction movie,” he said. I nodded, speechless.

Eventually, all the children were picked up, including Tommy and Caitlin, whose father was a colonel with Special Forces and had his office at the Pentagon. I hugged him when he walked in the door, and his children were almost mute with fear and joy. Josh and I drove home, and my face mirrored the others I saw on the drive-pale, red eyed, shaken, disbelieving. I didn’t want to turn the television on because my child was only 3, but I had to know what the hell happened. I lit a candle, and as I was placing it in the living room window, I saw people gathering on the corner across the street. Taking Josh’s hand, and carrying the candle, I walked over to the group. We stayed for about 2 hours, and Josh was so good. We sang, and cried, hugged and whispered. Cars driving by honked and waved, but we just sang. “Amazing Grace”, “The Star Spangled Banner” and anything else that made us feel less like the world was ending.

We were open the next day. We were supposed to have school pictures taken, but the photographer’s sister had been killed in the collapse of the Towers, and Lifetouch needed to find a replacement for him. Attendance was down; most of the older kids came, if only to have the closeness of friends. A few students lost family members, and out of that loss came a teddy bear drive, resulting in over 200 teddy bears being mailed to New York, to give kids who had lost someone they loved something to hold onto. We taped a picture of the American flag to windows-the Post had printed it specifically for that purpose-and listened to Whitney Houston sing the National Anthem over and over again. We were one nation, we were one country, solidified in grief and confusion.

Over the past few years, we seem to have forgotten what it is to be an American. It is not hating another religion, or a person because of their name or skin color, it is not lumping an entire race of people into the same category as a few who are insane with rage and hate. It is tolerance, and acceptance, patience and selflessness. I hope that today, instead of focusing on the anger, we remember those people who died, the fire fighters, police and rescue workers who came from all over the world to help the victims of September 11th. Let’s remember the widows, the widowers, the children, the parents, brothers, sisters, lovers and friends who lost someone so special on that day. By focusing on the rage and hate, we lower ourselves to the level of the people that did this to us.

We can never forget that horrible day, eleven years ago. Perhaps today, though, we can hug someone a little tighter rather than yell a little louder. Maybe flowers instead of anger. Love instead of hate.

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