I remember

I was standing in front of my class of precious fifth grade students. The students were looking forward to the school’s first annual five-day field-trip to Washington, D.C. Right now, though, our minds were on more current matters. We were studying weather in science, and I had arranged with a local radio station for five of my students to read the weather forecast live via phone during the radio’s morning show, one for each morning of the week. One of my students had gone to the office, studying the fax with the forecast on it while waiting for the call from the radio station and her big moment. In the classroom we had gone on with our morning routine. The radio was on and tuned to the proper station, but turned down low so that only I could really hear. I knew just what to listen for that would introduce my student, and I planned to turn the radio up at just the proper time. Anything other than my student’s introduction, I blocked out as background noise. As the class got quiet, I recall thinking, “Huh, I wonder what’s wrong.” Instead of the normal music, I heard sirens – lots of sirens. I thought it odd, but my ears were so tuned for the intro to my student, and I was so focused that I blocked it out and moved on with my lesson. A minute later my student returned. “The principal told me to come back to class. The radio station said I can’t read the forecast today.” I recall being a bit miffed. How dare they think anything was so important that they had to deny my precious student her few minutes of fame. I had no idea.

The Latin teacher came to the room, and I stepped out in the hall for my morning break. Our principal met me there in tears. “I’m sorry I sent your student back. We couldn’t have her in the office with the radio on. Was your radio on?” she asked.
“Yes, but it was turned down low and no one was really listening,” I replied. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know how else to tell you – a plane flew into the World Trade Center. The whole tower might collapse.”

I remember that I didn’t really understand what was going on. Little by little more teachers heard. We all seemed to react the same way – give our students an assignment to work on, then gather in the hall to figure out what we should do. We were not these children’s parents. It seemed like too big a thing for us to tell them, yet if we didn’t they were bound to find out some other way. We agreed that each teacher would tell their class what was happening in an age appropriate fashion. Before my class finished Latin, the news came of the second plane, then the plane hitting the Pentagon. I remember clearly thinking, “No way. That’s not possible.” Then, “Oh my goodness – the Pentagon. Our military center. That’s a statement of war. We’re now a country at war.” Then my mind quickly switched gears to one word – “Daddy-O.” My father-in-law worked across the street from the Pentagon and frequently had meetings there. I called my husband who was asleep due to an unusual work schedule. I apologized for waking him, then explained what was going on. “We’ve got to make sure your dad is okay.”

With that my break was up, and I had to return to my students. As I walked in the room, I saw each eager face, so innocent. I didn’t want to tell them anything. I wanted them to maintain their beliefs that all was okay with the world. At the same time, I wanted to guide how they found out, so that they wouldn’t be crushed. I don’t remember the exact words I said, but it was something to the effect of horrible things happening in New York and Washington, DC. People who didn’t like America had flown planes into buildings. Many people were hurt. I remember clearly that I told them we needed to pray. I was so grateful to teach in a Christian school where there was no question that this was what we would do. We gathered in a circle and each student took turns praying, each revealing a little of their level of understanding by their prayers. After that we went outside for an early recess. I just didn’t have the heart to teach. I just kept wondering, hoping, worrying, thinking surely my father-in-law must be okay. I extended recess as long as I possibly could to allow students to ask me and other teachers questions individually, as well as talk with their friends about what they had just heard. My heart poured out with gratitude for these precious children as they alternately talked, played, hugged, and prayed together. Eventually we headed back into the classroom, although we didn’t do any heavy academics.

After what seemed like ages, the principal called me to the phone. By now the whole faculty knew of my concern for my father-in-law. My husband had finally gotten in touch with his mom, who after about an hour of overloaded phone circuits, was finally able to get through to his dad. He was okay. He had indeed had a meeting at the Pentagon that morning, but had just returned to his nearby office when the plane hit. He felt the impact, but was unharmed. When she talked to him, he was stuck in traffic along with all the other commuters who had been released from work early and were frantically trying to get home to families. I think my first tears came then, so glad that he was okay, so overwhelmed with how many people’s family members were not, and so afraid of what lay next for our country.

When the school day came to a close, I went home and embraced my husband. Together we headed to church, where a spur-of-the-moment prayer meeting had been arranged.

In the days that followed, I was so proud of the way our country united to fight the fear. Many people sought answers by turning to their Bibles and prayer. A month or so later, my husband and his father ran the Marine Corp Marathon in Washington, DC. The course ran around the Pentagon, where the hole was still very clear. We visited the memorial that had been spontaneously set up on a hillside overlooking the gaping spot where walls used to be thought of as so indestructible. We vowed to never forget.

That Spring I still took my class on the long-anticipated field trip to Washington, DC. Every parent still allowed their child to go. Many parents accompanied us. I think they all knew that it was important to see, and not to forget. By the time my class went, the hole in the Pentagon had been repaired, the spontaneous memorial had been removed, and life had already largely returned to normal. Still, there were small reminders everywhere that normal was no longer the same.

Tomorrow, on the five-year anniversary of those horrible attacks, I want to remember. That day reminded me of the value of family and of what is really important in life. I was reminded of how proud I am to be a citizen of what I believe is the greatest country on earth in which to live. I was filled with gratitude for those who have sacrificed to give us the freedoms that we take for granted. I was reminded of the power of prayer, and I was reminded of both the extremes of good and evil that exist in our world. I want to remember these things so that it will never again take such tragedy to remind me.