I woke up in the morning to an ordinary day of seventh grade. Brushed my teeth, took a shower, and ate some Captain Crunch (my breakfast of choice since elementary school). As I got ready to get into the passenger seat of my father’s car so that he could drive me to school, my mom pulled back into the driveway. I figured that she has forgotten something and thought nothing more of it. As I sat back and fiddled with the radio, I saw my mom silently enter the house and turn on the TV. That’s when I saw it. A plane zooming directly, ominously, towards the World Trade Center. I stood there on the cold floor tile watching the recording of events already passed, and I could not help but think that it was a joke. I’m sure we all did. But then it crashed. As the flames burst, my only thought was that this had to be a terrible accident. In my naive thirteen year old mind, the fact that this could be a purposeful, premeditated act of terrorism was unfathomable. I remember school that day, the television was turned to a news station in every single class. Teachers were torn between their own grief and confusion and the need to educate. We went from class period to class period, watching the collapse of the Twin Towers over and over again while hearing foreign words about places and people we did not know.
I woke up the next day to a country changed. Flags showed up in the grocery stores, in the driveways, in the newspapers. 9/11 became a phrase, a symbol, a fighting chant. The day became a symbol of our country’s strength. Ribbons decorated our cars and windows, emblematic of a country bound together by a common desire to find those who had so easily entered, without regret, to maliciously undermine the lives of this country’s citizens.
What happened to that passion? The determination and willpower with which our country united. What happened to the days when our soldiers were considered heroes. The days when the people of this country eagerly watched the news and read the papers. The days when there was daily discourse on the events occurring abroad. The days these events were a part of our own lives. The days when people knew, and wanted to know.
Why have we stopped talking?
Why have we stopped caring?
1 comment:
I really like your topic. It's interesting because I think that everyone can think of exactly what they were doing on 9/11. It's such a vivid memory in everyone's mind. Yet, things that happen to our soldiers over in Iraq don't even get press sometimes.
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