I was a teacher that morning that changed the face of the country. Arriving early to ready the classroom, and prep for the lessons of the day, CNN was on - that dumpy old television secured to the upper corner of the room in case a California earthquake would dislodge it.
Instead, I numbly watched first the one jet, then the other, chilled by the image of not only the rampant act of destruction, but by the final thoughts and terror of those on board, who must surely have known their end was a building toward which the craft was diving.
Stupidly, I half-expected the aircraft to emerge from the other side of the building, watched the wingtip slicing through, the last vestiges of the plane as it exploded within.
The numbness seemed to make the reality of the moment a slow motion event. My God, this cannot be real.
Watching as the first tower collapsed - I had been in that building once, so many years earlier - and then later, unexpectedly, the second tower, and the carnage left as an unplanned bonus by lunatics with a death wish for our "evil" country.
How do you now explain to a room full of fourth graders that they are now witnesses to a moment in history that will forever be a part of the fabric of this nation, embedded as firmly as the assassinations of President John F. Kennedy and of Martin Luther King, as deep rooted as Woodstock only the antithesis of it's purpose?
And I remember hoping that none of my students had parents flying that day; although I knew somewhere in the country some children in a classroom like mine, had just witnessed the death of one or both parents, relatives, friends or neighbors. It was inevitable.
This was a scene from a Bruce Willis action movie, only not. The heroes were dead.
The disbelief, the sense of separation from reality, the lack of hope that somehow this would turn out differently, although we knew that it would not.
Life is a fabric with a story woven into it. Here the fabric was tearing, ripping lives throughout the nation and the world; how false our sense of security had become, how complacent we had become that life was safe.
For the last decade we have run from that moment; turned defense into offense, entrenched ourselves into two countries and wars that have broken the financial spine of our country and caused the world economic system to begin a spiral downwards from which they may never recover. And while we may no longer live in fear, more so from finally, almost a decade later, having found and dispatched the mastermind behind Sept. 11, a being we created long, long ago in a war that is still not so far away, we still are haunted by our vulnerability, constantly reminded of the dangers lurking from all modes of travel, as well as the potential for dirty bombs and other weapons of destruction. And we know, in all likelihood, the enemy lurks from within.
A recent survey found half the country suffering from some form of mental illness. Is it surprising? Americans have the potential for greatness and the proclivity for naivety, all wrapped in a blanket of patriotic fervor.
I wrote a poem back then…
UNITED STATES
By Andre Gensburger
I was not born American,
But I am one whose
Stars & Stripes flag unfurls,
Goosebumps as the anthem sounds,
Neck hairs straight as soldiers,
Eyes swell like surfer tides,
Guiding my soul to the heart of my soil.
This immigrant, that citizen,
My colors, I stand
Stricken by the tragedy inflicted
By those who can’t understand
The States of Unity.
So here, a decade later and another life ago for me, looking back at those normal people who lived normal lives only to one day become the martyrs and the symbols for our lost innocence, I cannot help but wonder, despite the passage of time, how far we have come from the pain that stabbed at our very core.
A memory entombed forever.
MisterWriter
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