Noelle - Day 82 (September 11th, 2015)

It shocks me.
It honestly shocks me how many people you can say that date to and it won't mean a thing to them.  Did you know what it meant when you read it?


9/11.

September 11th, 2015 was the fourteenth anniversary of 9/11.  Please know that I'm writing out of the depth of my heart in this post, and that I'm not trying to point fingers at anybody.

Together, my mom and I went to a special, optional service, held at our local church, even though it wasn't really necessary.  I had school off (not unusual actually, my school has no classes on Fridays) but I got up early and went to this 0900 service in remembrance.

The man whom spoke was there.  He saw the second plane hit.  He saw the explosion, he saw the buildings collapse into a pillar of smoke, dust, and fire.  He didn't sleep for another three days as he searched for survivors.  He was wearing the boots that walked on the remains of the twin towers, and a black Jewish hat.  Jews marks such hats with their initials and a date when they were given, and what was so important about that date.  The hat was marked with a wedding, held on 9/10/01.

I am shocked.

I am shocked by that man's bravery, his honor, to run into the dust and fire, instead of against it, without caring for himself, only trying to help others.  I am shocked by each and every heroic story his told.  I am shocked.

Two years ago my 9/11 memorial wasn't nearly as interesting.  I was still in public school (don't worry, this won't be a super long rant, because as many of my friends know, when it comes to public school I CAN RANT).  The only teacher that truly acknowledged the horrible events was my social studies teacher.  It wasn't in the morning announcement.  There was no special assignment or moment of silence.  To seven of my teachers, that was a normal day - even though they were all old enough to know the events of that day well.

In social studies, we watched videos - the twin tower exploded and collapsed before my eyes.  The pentagon burned.  The heroes of the fourth plane - their voices seared themselves in my ears as they stormed the cockpit.  Now, I admit, I've seen those videos before.  I've heard those voices.  All of this - I know the details.  But I still cried, watching them.  The horrible events were just too horrible.

I remember that class so well.  I sat in my assigned spot - second row on the aisle seat - and watched those videos.  The lights were off.  The blinds were mostly closed, but I remember the light sprinkling it's watery light across my face on the left.  I remember glancing around the room and seeing students not even looking at the screen - asleep, whispering to each other, doodling, or just staring off into space like today was another boring lecture (those classes were pretty boring, but simply because I knew all the answers without even studying).  You read that right.  Asleep.

And I was shocked.

I was sitting in the middle of a sixth grade class, second period social studies, crying.  And I was so alone in my sadness.  I was the only one affected.  I was the only one who seemed to care.

Finally the end of the class came, and everybody breathed a huge sigh of relief.  I pulled together my bags, put away my pencils, and walked out into the hallway, but not before one kid had the nerve to ask me, "Why are you crying?"  And I just looked at him, at a total loss for words.  Shocked.

Maybe I overreacted.  But I don't think that those kids - the kids that were probably born right after 9/11, who came into the world surrounded by fear and anger (and useless strict airplane regulations) - really realized what they were looking at.  Maybe it takes some imagination (and as all homeschool kids know, public school can really such that out of you if you let it).  Maybe it take a military parent, and the sickening worry that still brings tears to my eyes every time I think about it - the worry of what if they go and never come back; what if the last thing I said to them was can you fix my wii when you come back; what if that's my Dad who gets bombed in Florida, or shot?  Maybe that's what it takes.  But I wish sometimes that those kids could understand, if only a little, what really happened on September 11th, 2001.  Because however insignificant it might seem against all the modern tragedies, 3000 lives were lost.  3000 souls.

And I am shocked.

(I've included a video for you guys, and again, I'm not trying to say that all public schoolers are dumb or unimaginative or anything like that.  Try not to take it personally)  {I would also like to add that this is not my video!!!}