Everything Changed, Reflections on 9/11
I overslept that morning. This wasn’t unusual though. At age 22, I was still young, irresponsible, and figuring out this whole adulting thing. I was a 4th-grade teacher at a small private school - with a class size of 6. It was one month into my first year of teaching and I had already overslept twice, meaning that this was the third time I was going to be late.
My (now ex-) husband had awoken before me and turned on the TV about 10 minutes after the first plane hit. He burst into our bedroom, “Hey, wake up, a plane hit the World Trade Center! Terrible accident. You gotta see this!”
I quickly sat up, absorbing that info at the same time as seeing the clock telling me that I had 20 minutes to get to work (it was a 30-minute drive and I was still in bed). It didn’t really sink in right away because I was distracted by the adrenaline rush of getting ready to leave.
I threw on some clothes and quickly pulled my hair back. Grabbing my shoes and socks, I rushed downstairs to watch CNN while I finished getting ready. As I was pulling on my second sock, the 2nd plane hit the South Tower right before my eyes.
I froze. Thinking about it now, it was probably only about 20 seconds, but it felt like an eternity. I realized, along with the rest of the world, that America was being attacked. At 22 years old, I absorbed that this would be my generation’s “Kennedy Moment”. The shock set in as my husband ran down the stairs asking if I’d just seen what happened. There was panic in his eyes and I felt sick to my stomach.
For a brief time, I considered calling in sick. But then I thought about my kids, six 9-year olds who were old enough to pick up that something was going on with the adults. They were a bright bunch and I wanted to be the one to tell them, to explain, to answer their questions.
I grabbed my work bag and rushed out to the car, telling my husband that I’d be back home after school, or sooner, if they decided to close. In the car, the radio was set to KLOL, the local Houston rock station. They weren’t playing music though. Instead, Outlaw Dave, the afternoon deejay and star of the station, was sharing news from New York, and keeping listeners updated.
I don’t remember most of that drive. What I do remember is worrying that my brother may have been flying that day and being concerned that he could be in danger - or worse. As I turned onto the main road to get to the school, the deejay announced that there was only one song appropriate to play at a time like this: Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA”.
Now, in 2021, this song has a different impact than it did before it was used for political purposes during the 2016 and 2020 campaigns. However, in 2001, this song stood for something different. It stood for love of country, sacrifice, and determination. My other brother had been in the Gulf War and I clearly remember how much that song meant to me as a child, knowing that my brother was fighting for our country.
On September 11th, the moment the song started I burst into tears. I cried for the remainder of the drive, the emotions and reality of what was happening had finally sunk in. As I pulled into the school parking lot at 8:45am and I had to gather myself, and prepare for what was ahead. I didn’t know that a plane had just hit the Pentagon when I walked in, rushed. The Principal was there and she said that my tardiness would not be noted, on this day. I was grateful and replaced the school receptionist who was watching my kids.
"In the car, the radio was set to KLOL, the local Houston rock station. They weren’t playing music though."
The kids were clearly confused, but the decision had been made to say nothing to them at that time. As I apologized and started the daily spelling lesson, the receptionist returned and told me about the Pentagon. She said the decision had been made to tell students in 4th-8th grade, and to take the younger ones into a play day for distraction.
Knowing that I would now, definitely, need to tell the kids, I had a brief realization that I was pretty much still a kid myself. Twenty years later, I still have no idea how I got through it.
I went back into the classroom, took a deep breath, and started their first-ever geometry lesson - something that was months away according to the curriculum. I drew a Pentagon on the board, and explained the significance of the building and what it symbolizes for the world. From there, I explained what I had seen on TV and then answered their questions, within reason.
A few minutes later, the South Tower collapsed and the staff came around to tell us. Parents started to call, preparing to pick up their kids. After the North Tower collapse, the decision was made to close the school at 12:30pm. All remaining parents were notified. A television was brought into the 8th-grade classroom and students 4th and above were given the option to watch the news or play outside with the younger kids. It was split 50/50.
From then on, we watched. Myself and the other teachers sat there with interested students and answered their questions, calmed their fears, and ensured them that we were safe at the school, and that their parents were safe at their jobs.
One boy, in 7th grade, knew that his uncle worked at the World Trade Center. He was the trouble-maker at the school, and had been accepted that year after being expelled from 1 public school and 2 other private institutions. That day though, he was stoic. He asked questions, he spoke openly about his fears, and helped support some of the younger students in the room as they were worried about their own family. His uncle was in the upper floors of the South Tower. We found out over the ensuing weeks that he likely perished well before the collapse. I’ve done a recent search and his name is still included in the list of those whose remains have not yet been found.
All of the students were picked up by 1pm, and I went home to watch the rest of the day unfold.
"Knowing that I would now, definitely, need to tell the kids, I had a brief realization that I was pretty much still a kid myself. Twenty years later, I still have no idea how I got through it."
Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve been watching the new and old documentaries about 9/11. It’s hard to believe that it’s been 20 years. I think about my students that day, and the weeks after. I wonder if they were as changed by it as we were, as adults. I hope that they have memories of adults helping them, and holding them, and explaining things to them while they were experiencing it.
Everything changed on September 11, 2001. I think I fully became a grown-up that day. The world was a different place. The innocence of Gen X and Millennials would be forever lost because of what we witnessed. Thousands of lives were lost, we were helpless, and the only thing that made it better was time.
Time heals, but it doesn’t erase. It seems like it was just yesterday that oversleeping was the biggest concern I had in this life. Now, I understand that it is my job, along with others, to keep this memory alive - to ensure we don’t forget. So, I tell my story when I have the chance. I share the way it felt, what I saw, and how I witnessed it through my students’ eyes.
Flash forward to 11 years after 9/11, I was accepted into Drew University’s History & Culture Masters program, which brought me to the New York area. I was studying the History of Memory and my thesis was based on the American memory of the Holocaust and the concept of prosthetic memories. The 9/11 Memorial was still in progress, opening in 2014, and this was a fantastic opportunity for me to come to terms with my 9/11 experience. I spent the next 2 years in that program, watching the new Freedom Tower grow into the sky, and thinking about the way people will remember 9/11 after 100 years have passed. I’ve met survivors and those who called in sick that day, and should have been there. I’ve met firefighters who stayed for months after. I’ve been to the Memorial Museum, once opened, where memories of those lost are kept alive and fragments of artifacts let visitors experience what it was like at that hallowed space on that day and after.
I hope that the memory of 9/11 stays alive and that those who were lost are never forgotten. But, in reality, the memory will fade. How we work today to share our experiences will determine how it will be treated in the future. It is on all of us to hold memory sacred and pass on the stories.
-Jana McCarthy, Master Advising Specialist and HSO Advisor