So here we are, on the eve of another anniversary of the worst day in modern American history. It's a little strange to be 12 years removed at this point. I remember pieces of that day extraordinarily vividly, as I'm sure all American young adults do. It comes in bursts of memory, but, actually in total, I don't remember much.
I remember waking up suddenly, inexplicably at around 6:00AM PST. I know, logically, it couldn't have meant anything, but it always kind of weirds me out that it did happen. I remember seeing light in the hallway outside my room and knowing that I had a little bit more time to sleep. So I went back to sleep because I didn't understand why I had woken up.
I remember being in the back seat of my mom's old Toyota Camry listen to the grief-stricken KGO 810 reporters talk about the World Trade Centers. By the time I was on my way to school, everything was over. They said something about how the Towers had fallen. I didn't understand. I thought the Towers were in San Francisco. New York was almost an imaginary island in my mind.
I remember dropping my brother off at his high school in downtown San Jose. At a high school next to the airport. I don't remember why she said it (obviously, I understand now), but my mom told my brother to be careful at school that day. I didn't understand why.
I remember my elementary school principal saying something about how it was safe at school now. Us students, we would be kept safe. It could have been at our morning assembly, but I don't remember standing in that square and looking out at the other students at my K-8 school; my school might have eschewed the typical assembly and just had all the teachers send their students into their classrooms immediately and announced it over the loudspeakers. I don't remember how, I just remember it being said. I remember fear. I remember confusion. I remember sadness, overwhelming sadness.
I don't remember much else about the school day. Everyone says it was a clear blue day in New York, but when I think back to that day, which I guess I don't really remember, I remember gray clouds all day until I got home from school. In all honesty, it probably was a pretty boring day at school. I was in sixth grade. Our teachers didn't turn on the TV.
My mom tells me that I asked her to stay at school that day, and she, worried about me, did ... but I don't remember that either. But it kind of makes sense, because I remember getting home earlier than usual that afternoon. I usually went to the after-school day offered by my school, but I remember getting home in time for the afternoon news to be on. My mom was somber. She turned the TV on while I did my homework ... the TV was never on when I was growing up. Especially not on the weekdays. I remember the replays and reports of the devastation in New York. I didn't understand who would do that sort of thing.
And then I remember it being September 12th, and September 13th, and September 14th. And of those days, what I remember most was sitting awake in the backseat of my mom's Camry every morning on the way to school, counting the flags that people put up in the aftermath. I remember writing pen pal letters to students in a sixth grade class from Manhattan. I remember the slew of patriotic country songs that made their way onto the radio. Every time I would hear one, I would smile.
I remember September 11, 2001 as the day America was attacked, and thousands of people died, but also the day that thousands of people lived by the courage of others. I remember it as the day that I learned that the world was much bigger and crueler, and much more terrifying, and much stranger than I had assumed it was. But it was also the day I learned that the world is also filled to the brim with kind, courageous, and much better people than I was aware existed.
There are countless stories of people carrying injured coworkers down the stairs. There is endless documentation of the firefighters who just kept going up. There are eye-witness accounts of first responders heTilping those injured or confused on the streets. Wherever you go on or near the anniversary of September 11th, there is always a story of someone helping someone else out.
So that is what I choose to remember now, 12 years later. Those who died but also those who lived. I mourn for those whose lives were cruelly and unnecessarily cut short, but I celebrate those who helped, gave support, experienced, and grieved together. It was a day of infamy, but it was also a day of unrivaled good and unrivaled kindness in those who responded with courage and sought to help everyone they could.
The best of humanity is in a response with kindness when faced with cruelty. The best of humanity is a response of bravery in the face of something truly terrifying and horrific. The best of humanity is the response of forgiveness when all you want to do is hate.
So that is what I hope to do: I hope to remember those who were lost, celebrate those who were brave, and forgive the ones who really need it. And I pray for peace, because, more than anything, this world needs it.
Be a patriot today: go and give someone a hug. Make your little part of the world a better place.
Always forgive, never forget.
--Tiffany
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