Memories

We were not adults. We were 13-year-old kids, scrambling to finish our German assignments before our teacher called the class to order. We did not know where Iraq was. We probably didn't even know what 'terrorism' was. It may have been the first national event that any kid my age ever really paid attention to. Forget political elections or whatever it was people were talking about in 2001 -- we were kids. We didn't have to worry about that stuff when there was sports to play, notes to pass, and chemistry homework to filter through.

I had heard a buzz about "plane crash" in the halls before my German class had begun. I didn't really digest these buzz words at all, because I needed to hurry to class -- I had to add "t" and "ed" to the end of English words to make them look German so I could get credit on my assignment.

But I'm not sure I ever actually turned that assignment in.

By the time my teacher rushed in, a little later than usual, she informed the class that we were going to listen to the radio for that period. She fumbled with the radio dials, and finally a scratchy, static-laden voice filled the classroom:

"Another plane has hit the second tower."

To a bunch of 13-year-old kids, our first reaction was not, "Terrorism." Our first reaction was, "Idiots." How can two people accidently fly two separate planes into two separate buildings? Our prepubescent minds -- or at least mine -- could not initially wrap around the ideas that not only did people do this on purpose, but that those were not any old airplanes. Those were commercial airplanes, with regular people, who crashed into a building with floors and floors of regular people on them.

Terrorism. This was done on purpose.


We were at a unique age where we simultaneously understood what happened and had no clue what was going on. I don't remember any other classes from that day. If any teacher actually attempted to teach anything, it fell on deaf ears. Some spent their class period updating and explaining to the junior high students what the attack meant.

And the hallways buzzed. That the terrorists were going to hit other important places -- like military bases. We were so close to the Air Force base that their students attended our future high school.

Of course, our preteen minds were filled with the worst kinds of gossip: They are going for the Air Force Base. But, wait, my dad worked on base! Would he be OK? Would our house be OK, since we lived nearby? These kind of talks filled our lunch hour.

The rest of the day was blurry for me. I watched the TV with my parents when I got home from school. I think I never really understood that day what had really happened, and why everyone was so sad. But I was just a kid.