Today has been very busy and I haven't had time to post much at all. This post will be cross-posted on all blogs, but I feel it is important enough to be posted like that.
Eight years ago, our nation changed. A horrific series of attacks changed the very core of who we are. The sound of an airplane overhead has a whole different meaning. Each anniversary, I am saddened at the memory. It is so fresh - if hardly feels like eight years have passed.
A few years before, I lived just miles from the Pennsylvania field as I was a camp cook and counselor. I haven't gone back. I don't think I can. Just three years after the attack, we awoke to find a small plane had crash landed across the street from our home in Tennessee.
Where were you on that fateful day? I would love to hear your story. Here's mine.
Hubby and I had just moved to Tennessee. I had my first full-time teaching job in a middle school. The day of the attack, I was welcoming my 8th grade choir. They told me that we were under attack. I thought they were pulling a prank on me. What they said just sounded so unbelievable. I was having a rocky year with this group and wouldn't be surprised by a prank, so we sang. Class as usual. Part way through class, the principal made an announcement and I turned on the tv to hear the news. I honestly don't remember much after that. I don't remember if we had an early dismissal. I don't remember teaching any other classes. I do remember going into my friend, Becky's, classroom to watch the news. I remember an announcement asking us to turn off the tv's to help the kids cope better - I don't think anyone listened, we were all too frightened. I know a lot of kids went home. I remember watching the news all night, shaking. For months after, news reports and rumors kept coming explaining how if there a nuclear attack, we would be high up on the list of probable targets due to our proximity to Oak Ridge labs.
I remember the panic. I remember emergency kits being prepared for homes - grocery stores selling out of water and canned goods. I remember the brave volunteers who traveled to New York and Pennsylvania to help. I remember feeling panic each time the Air National Guard helecopters flew over en route to base.
I remember the flags hanging at every house. I remember how America bonded and became stronger through the pain. America has changed, but not all for the worse. Remembering is painful, but we must Never Forget.
