Never Forget

A sense of confusion mixed with resentment was bubbling within me as I watched my classmates, one-by-one, get to go home early. Both my parents worked full-time so I never got picked up early.

Every time the classroom phone would ring, the teacher would answer, nodding her head somberly and whispering something to the person on the other line, I would cross my fingers hoping that today was the day I would be surprised. Later on, I would get more than I asked for when it came to surprises.

By one o’clock, three quarters of my class was gone. My curiosity had become to hard to control, so I non-chalantly walked up to the teacher and though I tried to play it cool, once in her presence, my innocent ten-year-old self blurted it out.

“Mrs. Naveh, why are so many people going home today? Is everyone sick or something?What's going on?”

“Honey, didn’t you hear what I told the class earlier?”

I looked up at her with a blank stare. I later found out I had been in the bathroom when she had broke the news to everyone.

After taking a deep breath she answered.

“Kristen, We were attacked. The twin towers were hit by a hijacked plane and they collapsed.”

I was speechless. At the time I didn’t know much about current events or even really what hijacked meant, (though this would become a part of my vocabulary forever following this event.) I did know that the twin towers were in Manhattan, and that my dad worked two blocks away from them, along with many of my other family members and friends.

At three o’clock, the small group of us left got led to the playground and were dismissed. I saw my mother waiting for me with a big smile on, as if nothing was wrong (everyone was trying to shield me from what had happened, but I wasn’t having any of it.) The car ride home I fired questions at her. Why didn’t you pick me up early? Have you talked to daddy? Is daddy okay? Who else do we know worked in the city? Is cousin Richie okay? Is Ed okay? What is going on? What really happened?

By then, the air already had a faint burning smell to it and if you looked up you could see the smoke rising from lower Manhattan, making dark trails in the sky headed towards Queens, where I lived.

Once at my house it was a waiting game. We watched the TV and on every station they were replaying the scene over and over again. The image of the plane ramming into the huge steel structure, and the huge ball of fire that exploded seconds later became seared into my mind. My mother couldn’t take it anymore. She turned it off and ushered us outside to sit in the backyard.

But we found no refuge outside. The normal soundtrack of New York had ceased. It was eerie. All the air traffic had been stopped and the buses and cars on the expressway were few and far between. Leaving only silence, something I had only heard when on vacation upstate, or in the Hamptons. I hated silence.

At this point, anxiety and tension was high in our little backyard. We still didn’t know my dad’s status. Cell phone’s weren’t working in the New York area because so many people were trying to get connected with loved ones and all public transportation was shut down. The only way off the island was to walk, or catch a ferry. My mother tried to talking to me to keep our minds off the obvious elephant in the room, but eventually we fell into silence. We sat like that until dusk when he finally walked up the driveway, disheveled and completely exhasted, but still alive.

This was just the beginning. The first day was one of confusion and anxiety. We were all in complete and utter shock. It had been so unexpected and completely different than anything we had ever experienced. No one really knew what to feel about it. For a short time there was definitely a blanket of terror over the city, but as the days dragged on something else emerged from ruins and completely tossed the blanket off; a sense of pride and unity that I have never seen before. All New Yorkers became united and had a message to tell the rest of the world, we weren’t afraid, we were strong and we were going to be okay.

What amazed me most in the next few days, weeks and months was the people, and what they did for each other, as well as the city. At the very beginning, it was the first responders who stunned us with their heroism. These were the people who ran into the buildings, while everyone else was running out of them, in order to save innocent strangers. Then there were the firemen and police officers coming from all over the city, and the country, to try and find people in the endless pile of rubble, once the towers had collapsed. They weren’t afraid of the consequences. They did it because it was second nature to them and it was the right thing to do.

Later on, it was the little acts of kindness, opening doors for others, cooking dinner for grieving neighbors, stopping to help someone pick something up off the street. Then there was the patriotism.

It was like Fourth of July at Talladega Superspeedway. People were plastering their cars with American flags. Every house in my neighborhood had a flag out front or a sign with a patriotic slogan on it hanging from a window. People wore red, white and blue everyday in one form or another. The housewives and teachers showed off their tacky, obnoxious flag pins. The boys all had bright flag t-shirts that had sayings like: GOD BLESS AMERICA, on them in huge lettering. The fashionista’s wore flashy, bedazzled red, white and blue shoes and purses. I wore an American flag bandana so much that my mother had to eventually hide it from me to stop me from wearing it. It was absolutely absurd and unprecedented for New Yorkers to be acting this way but, at the time it was the obvious thing to do and no one questioned it.

There was also the chivalry. Men everywhere proved that it isn’t dead. They all had some kind of epiphany that switched their inner manly instincts of protection on. They all wanted to be ready just in case anything else happened. Still to this day, my dad will always sit in the aisle seat on an airplane, just in case a situation arises.

After the first year anniversary this crazy atmosphere settled down and eventually blew over. People went on with their normal lives, because if you didn’t then it seemed like you were giving in to what the terrorists wanted in the first place. This isn’t to say that we forgot what had happened, we just didn’t talk/think/remember it 24/7.

I realize now that my ten year old self didn’t fully understand it all. And, ten years later, my twenty year old self is still trying to make sense of it, but as the years have gone by I have begun to see the event in a different light.

It’s odd to think, but I lived through an event that will go down in history forever. It was the first time in history that we were attacked on our mainland. It was also, the first time that such a horrifying event was covered by the media instantaneously as it was happening. People will be reading about this in textbooks for years to come.

It also drastically changed our culture. Gone are the carefree days where you could get to the airport 45 minutes prior to your flight, sipping on a bottle of Pepsi you brought from home, with a oversized container of Nutella your grandmother gave you stuffed in your carry-on, and still have a fighting chance to make it on to your plane. The words, Osama Bin Laden, Hiijacked, Terrorist, Middle East, Afghanistan, Iraq, Ground Zero, Twin Towers and Weapons of Mass Destruction are forever ingrained in our minds. Gone are the days where you could turn on the TV and not hear about another young American soldier who died in a Middle Eastern country. Lastly, gone is trust and not being on guard all the time looking our for your security.

The thing is, by now, these things have become ordinary. When I go to the airport I don’t think, oh this all happened because of 9/11, I just go through the normal motions that I have become accustomed to these past ten years. My memories of the world before 9/11 have become blurred and faint. Things that used to trigger my memory of the event don't anymore. It hasn't crossed my mind daily, weekly or even monthly in a long time, and any guilt I used to harbor for not thinking about it a lot has gone as well.
But like clockwork, every year when September rolls around, the feelings and memories come right back: sadness, pride, empathy, uncertainty, anger, acceptance.
The slogan that has become infamous with 9/11 is, “Never Forget”, but in all honesty, How could I? How could anyone?