September 11, 2021
#20: This is what today means to me, and it’s taken me twenty years to realize it.
Yesterday morning, I had the serendipitous experience of being in a room of eleventh graders while my school’s principal paid tribute to the events of September 11th over the loudspeaker. Twenty years prior, during one of our country’s most historic events, I was in their exact position. Each of them respectfully listened to the announcements, knowing the gravity of the day but lacking the firsthand connection to it.
I tried my best to put myself in their shoes, and as I stared out at them, I couldn’t help but replay the morning of September 11th, a morning that will forever be etched in my memory.
“RING!” the morning bell blared throughout the school on the morning of September 11th, 2001.
I entered my 11th grade chemistry class, looking for my seat. Due to overcrowded classrooms, I was put in a room full of advanced 10th graders. Opening my textbook to an arbitrary page, I started completing the morning’s opening activity. My teacher, Mr. Mignela, waited until the clock struck 9:05AM before taking the final sip of his coffee and began his lesson.
“Okay. Let’s go over the first three questions,” Mr. Mignela said.
Those were the last words I would hear before the world changed.
Just as he was about to continue, the loudspeaker turned on. All fifty-eight eyes darted to it as the crackling and huffs of the principal’s breath were broadcast throughout the whole school.
“Ladies and gentlemen. May I have your attention please,” Dr. Lando commanded. I was used to hearing him speak each and every day, but there was an unusual tone in his voice this morning. It made even the most problematic students pay attention.
“As of this morning, two planes have crashed into the World Trade Center,” he said. Dr. Lando’s words hung over the class for a few moments. I, along with the rest of the school, didn’t understand the full extent of his words. He went on to further explain, but it didn’t seem, at the time, like a big deal.
A period later, I was in Spanish class. As we transitioned from one class to another, students were murmuring in the hallway about what happened, but it still didn’t seem like a big deal. I dismissed it as just a sad accident that happened.
I was wrong.
My Spanish teacher, Ms. Zuniga, was already knee deep into a lesson on action verbs when it happened. Dr. Lando came back on the loudspeaker, “As of this moment, both World Trade Center buildings have fallen.”
I looked around the room. Some people looked worried; some people looked scared; some people were laughing; some people had an indifferent expression; but all were in some way reacting to these words.
I looked down at the blank page in my notebook. That is how I reacted. On that blank page I pictured the Twin Towers falling into the streets of New York City. Living so close to Manhattan, I’ve seen those buildings many times on TV and even in person.
Then I looked up. I looked towards my teacher because she was the only adult in the room. Surely, she could make a sense of what happened. Surely, she could make everything alright.
But she looked right back out at us, and tears were forming in her eyes. She tried to stifle them, to keep that veil up in front of her students. She uttered one phrase that I will never forget.
“My god. All those people,” she said.
That was when I knew. Seeing my teacher break down and cry in front of her students; I knew things would be different. That this was not just a little blip on the radar. I knew that this would change the world.
I didn’t know it would inevitably change me too.
Ten years ago, on the 10th anniversary of the attacks, I sat in a coffee shop with my laptop reflecting on the day. At this point, I had gone from a 16-year-old student to a 26-year-old teacher. As I wrote about the attacks then, I concluded that September 11th acted as a catalyst for my own personal growth. It helped me become more interested in politics, the environment, and the world at large. However, I was wrong. While September 11th played a part in that, mostly growing up, going to college, and becoming an adult propelled those interests and development.
Today, on the 20th anniversary, I find myself, once again, writing about the events of that day, and I think I’m finally able to see the effect September 11th has had on me. You see, I was fortunate enough to have a wonderful childhood and adolescence. My biggest concerns were the upcoming New York Rangers season and how to find all the masks in the most recent Legend of Zelda game. The dangers of the world were kept at a distance by the bubble I lived in, and despite a few cracks along the way, my innocence was largely intact when I woke up that morning.
Yesterday, as I looked out upon my 11th grade students, I saw a lot of my pre-September 11th self in them. While they weren’t alive twenty years ago, they will, inevitably (if they haven’t already), experience something that will thrust them into adulthood; experience something that will shatter their innocence. It’s a rite passage we all, eventually, go through.
For me, September 11th marks the day where the world came to my doorstep and shattered mine. It penetrated my soft bubble and left its indelible mark upon me.
This is what today means to me, and it’s taken me twenty years to realize it.