It's been said that 9/11 is to my generation what Kennedy's assassination was to my mother's.
As though to prove that point, when discussing the anniversary of 9/11 with my sisters over Labor Day weekend, our mother chimed in with her account of where she was when she heard about JFK. (Sidenote: an electronics store let her borrow a television to take back to her office...it was seriously a different time then.)
My mother was 18 years old when JFK was assassinated. I was 18 years old on September 11, 2001.
Just like her, the details of the day are burned into my memory. Around the anniversary last year, I clicked through an online slideshow of images from that day. They provoked a physical reaction. I could remember the way I felt on that day as clearly as if it happened only a week before, rather than nine years.
I was just a few weeks into my freshman year of college. I'd slept through my 8am class, so I was rushing to my 9:30 class without so much as turning on my radio. I wasn't the only one to do that, obviously, as only three people in my class knew that a plane had flown into the World Trade Center. While strange, we wrote it off as an accident and continued on with class (philosophy, for the record). From there I went straight to my 11am economics class (this is the only day of my entire college career that I remember what classes I had and/or at what time...though I do know I never again attempted an 8am class) where it was revealed the other tower had been hit. No one knew any details, and talk of the other flights that morning came across as rumors. No one seemed to really know what had happened. After class, I headed back to my dorm room where I found the marker board my roommate and I used to leave messages laying on my bed. "Turn on the TV" was all it said. I did, and I didn't turn it off for two days.
Before that day, I had no idea what the World Trade Center was. I definitely didn't know that it was two tall buildings standing side by side in New York City. I knew the Pentagon was in DC, though I had no idea where exactly (and no clue that it's technically in Virginia). I had never heard of Al Qaeda and probably could not have found Afghanistan on a map. I know I'm not the only one.
What I remember most now, though, is not the confusion of what was happening or the sick feeling that sat in my stomach for months. It's the way everyone came together. I was living in an all female, all freshmen dorm. We all gathered in the lower level of the building where we had a large TV room. We hugged each other and cried together as we watched the news. We cooked dinner and baked cookies together in the dorm kitchen. We all spent the night on the floor so that no one would have to sleep in a room alone. All across campus it was the same story. People who had known each other only a few short weeks were supporting each other like family. Even after we were told the attacks came from an extremist Islamic group in Afghanistan, openly Muslim students were treated no differently in the beginning. We were all united in grief.
Then the tide turned and we were united in hatred of the group that had done this to us. And somewhere along the way, hatred of one group spilled over and became hatred of millions. Americans went from banding together to turning on each other. What had been one for all became every man for himself. We went from being a wounded, justifiably angry country, to being the schoolyard bully. A country with as many internal divisions as the countries we've taken it upon ourselves to "fix".
What happened to the UNITED States? How did a country founded by immigrants looking for a better life become a country that refuses to let immigrants in and prosecutes those who do get in?
These are the things I'm thinking about on this, the ten year anniversary of the deadliest attack on my home country.
I'm thinking about the fact that my own husband, who came to school here in 2002, will never know what America was like before 9/11. He'll never get to meet a loved one at the gate instead of on the other side of a lengthy security process. He'll never see different houses of worship co-existing peacefully, without a protest or holy book-burning in sight. And most importantly, he'll never be treated like he truly belongs here.
So on this anniversary, let's focus less on anger and sadness. If we never recover from that day, never let go of the anger, the terrorists win. So instead, let's remember that 99.9% of people who come to the U.S. do so because they love our country and the opportunities it provides. They don't come here to hurt us. Remember that this country was founded by people coming from all over the world looking for a fresh start. If that stops, we lose what makes us America. So go out today and make friends with an immigrant. Show them they're accepted. That would've really pissed bin Laden off.
As though to prove that point, when discussing the anniversary of 9/11 with my sisters over Labor Day weekend, our mother chimed in with her account of where she was when she heard about JFK. (Sidenote: an electronics store let her borrow a television to take back to her office...it was seriously a different time then.)
My mother was 18 years old when JFK was assassinated. I was 18 years old on September 11, 2001.
Just like her, the details of the day are burned into my memory. Around the anniversary last year, I clicked through an online slideshow of images from that day. They provoked a physical reaction. I could remember the way I felt on that day as clearly as if it happened only a week before, rather than nine years.
I was just a few weeks into my freshman year of college. I'd slept through my 8am class, so I was rushing to my 9:30 class without so much as turning on my radio. I wasn't the only one to do that, obviously, as only three people in my class knew that a plane had flown into the World Trade Center. While strange, we wrote it off as an accident and continued on with class (philosophy, for the record). From there I went straight to my 11am economics class (this is the only day of my entire college career that I remember what classes I had and/or at what time...though I do know I never again attempted an 8am class) where it was revealed the other tower had been hit. No one knew any details, and talk of the other flights that morning came across as rumors. No one seemed to really know what had happened. After class, I headed back to my dorm room where I found the marker board my roommate and I used to leave messages laying on my bed. "Turn on the TV" was all it said. I did, and I didn't turn it off for two days.
Before that day, I had no idea what the World Trade Center was. I definitely didn't know that it was two tall buildings standing side by side in New York City. I knew the Pentagon was in DC, though I had no idea where exactly (and no clue that it's technically in Virginia). I had never heard of Al Qaeda and probably could not have found Afghanistan on a map. I know I'm not the only one.
What I remember most now, though, is not the confusion of what was happening or the sick feeling that sat in my stomach for months. It's the way everyone came together. I was living in an all female, all freshmen dorm. We all gathered in the lower level of the building where we had a large TV room. We hugged each other and cried together as we watched the news. We cooked dinner and baked cookies together in the dorm kitchen. We all spent the night on the floor so that no one would have to sleep in a room alone. All across campus it was the same story. People who had known each other only a few short weeks were supporting each other like family. Even after we were told the attacks came from an extremist Islamic group in Afghanistan, openly Muslim students were treated no differently in the beginning. We were all united in grief.
Then the tide turned and we were united in hatred of the group that had done this to us. And somewhere along the way, hatred of one group spilled over and became hatred of millions. Americans went from banding together to turning on each other. What had been one for all became every man for himself. We went from being a wounded, justifiably angry country, to being the schoolyard bully. A country with as many internal divisions as the countries we've taken it upon ourselves to "fix".
What happened to the UNITED States? How did a country founded by immigrants looking for a better life become a country that refuses to let immigrants in and prosecutes those who do get in?
These are the things I'm thinking about on this, the ten year anniversary of the deadliest attack on my home country.
I'm thinking about the fact that my own husband, who came to school here in 2002, will never know what America was like before 9/11. He'll never get to meet a loved one at the gate instead of on the other side of a lengthy security process. He'll never see different houses of worship co-existing peacefully, without a protest or holy book-burning in sight. And most importantly, he'll never be treated like he truly belongs here.
So on this anniversary, let's focus less on anger and sadness. If we never recover from that day, never let go of the anger, the terrorists win. So instead, let's remember that 99.9% of people who come to the U.S. do so because they love our country and the opportunities it provides. They don't come here to hurt us. Remember that this country was founded by people coming from all over the world looking for a fresh start. If that stops, we lose what makes us America. So go out today and make friends with an immigrant. Show them they're accepted. That would've really pissed bin Laden off.
