(no subject)
September 11th, 2001. I remember my first thought when I heard the news: It’s a shame I’ve never been to New York City, because now when I do go, I’ll be part of “the after”.
I would walk the streets of a changed Manhattan, forever altered by unspeakable horror.
At the time, in spite of my initial shock, I was hardly cognizant of the scope of the tragedy. To eleven-year-old me, terrorism was something that happened to people you didn’t know, much like fatal car accidents and murder and everything else that made you momentarily sad when it flashed across the TV screen, but never penetrated the thick skin of suburbia.
2,752 was just a number to me then, meaningless. It wasn’t until I saw the faces of the families, until I realized that the uncle of one friend had died, the cousin of another, that the number became a grim reality.
.
I remember being in bed that night thinking the same somber thought that was undoubtedly echoing across the globe, who would be tucking me in tonight if it had been my parents in the Towers?
I’ve never been good at keeping things - car keys, credit cards, secrets. But I saved that newspaper from September 12th, 2001 in a plastic Tops bag in the bottom left corner drawer of my bureau where it lay until this morning. When I unearthed it, I read above the fold:
Yesterday’s heartache resonates across an America forever changed, its patriotism rekindled. Life as we knew it ground to a horrific halt, but from the ashes emerge stories of courage, bravery, generosity and even hope for a stronger nation.
Simple words from an editor of the Democrat and Chronicle, but for me, they capture and highlight an important takeaway of the tragedy: it is only through unity and a renewal of spirit that we can prevent this from ever happening again.
Seven years after September 11th, 2001, when I made my premier journey across the Brooklyn Bridge, I would finally see the broken skyline, a physical souvenir of that horrible day, a necessary reminder that we really, truly must never forget or all who died will have gone in vain.
United we stand.
I would walk the streets of a changed Manhattan, forever altered by unspeakable horror.
At the time, in spite of my initial shock, I was hardly cognizant of the scope of the tragedy. To eleven-year-old me, terrorism was something that happened to people you didn’t know, much like fatal car accidents and murder and everything else that made you momentarily sad when it flashed across the TV screen, but never penetrated the thick skin of suburbia.
2,752 was just a number to me then, meaningless. It wasn’t until I saw the faces of the families, until I realized that the uncle of one friend had died, the cousin of another, that the number became a grim reality.
.
I remember being in bed that night thinking the same somber thought that was undoubtedly echoing across the globe, who would be tucking me in tonight if it had been my parents in the Towers?
I’ve never been good at keeping things - car keys, credit cards, secrets. But I saved that newspaper from September 12th, 2001 in a plastic Tops bag in the bottom left corner drawer of my bureau where it lay until this morning. When I unearthed it, I read above the fold:
Yesterday’s heartache resonates across an America forever changed, its patriotism rekindled. Life as we knew it ground to a horrific halt, but from the ashes emerge stories of courage, bravery, generosity and even hope for a stronger nation.
Simple words from an editor of the Democrat and Chronicle, but for me, they capture and highlight an important takeaway of the tragedy: it is only through unity and a renewal of spirit that we can prevent this from ever happening again.
Seven years after September 11th, 2001, when I made my premier journey across the Brooklyn Bridge, I would finally see the broken skyline, a physical souvenir of that horrible day, a necessary reminder that we really, truly must never forget or all who died will have gone in vain.
United we stand.