What Will We Remember?

Waking up yesterday felt a little too normal. The day proceeded like any other jam-packed Sunday. By 1:00 pm, I had already walked the dog, went to Sunday school, attended a friend's sweet 16 birthday party and had a tutoring session. It wasn't until I returned home well into the afternoon that I remembered that this "normal" day was in fact the ten year anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks on the US. Enraged by my own oblivion, I decided to try and commemorate the day the only way I could: by remembering. 

I remember the morning of September 11, 2001 so vividly. Sitting in Ms. Barras's first grade class, I remember watching tears stream down my teacher's face as she tried to wipe them away in order to remain composed in front of a class of 7 year olds. I remember seeing both moms and dads together in the pickup line after school. I remember the confusion when my dad was already home from work when I returned from school. I remember feeling hopeless when nothing I did could help the adults around me feel better. But most importantly... I remember. I don't remember much from my first grade year, but I do remember this. And although I may not have understood the severity or the impact of the situation, I must have somehow been aware of the importance and effects of the day's events.

My parents were about the same age as I was on 9/11/01 when John F. Kennedy was shot in '63. They too can perfectly recall not only their whereabouts on this day, but also small details - details that normally would have been forgotten long ago. My mom, only 5, had wanted nothing more than to plop down in front of the TV and watch her favorite show, Bozo's Circus, around lunchtime. But to her surprise, Bozo had been cancelled, and every program for the rest of the day was replaced with a different news anchor furiously covering the assassination. My dad, who was 7 at the time, remembers JFK's assassination as well. Upon his return to school after lunch at home, he remembers noticing the crossing guard, who was always smiley and warm, crying to herself. At school, all the kids were running around telling each other "The president was shot!", none truly understanding the level of seriousness concerning the subject. But, despite their inability to really comprehend what had occurred, it was clear that this event would have an enormous and lasting effect on them, but one that the kids could not possibly have predicted at the time. 

I realize that the kids my age are the last generation that will ever be able to talk about what they recall from that fateful day in 2001. I thought about the necessary steps I must take in preserving my memory for years to come. When I am 55, I want to be able to remember my experience as a terrified first grader just as my parents remember their reactions (and their parents' reactions) to JFK's assassination. And the only way that any of us will be able to continue to remember our stories, is continuing to listen and share our experiences with everyone, especially the generations to come.