We all have memories of our childhood that are forever ingrained in our minds. The time we broke our wrist, all the quarters we got from our lemonade stand, the first time we ever got grounded. These moments are staples symbols of our youth and we remember them fondly now as we try to prepare ourselves for this thing called life.
There is however, another memory that sticks out in not just my mind, but all of our minds. While the context and setting of this memory varies among all of us, the feelings are the same. Confusion, fear, naïveté are all words I would use to describe my 10-year-old self on Sept. 11, 2001. The extent of what I knew was what I saw on the faces of my elementary school teachers, the extent of what I understood was no more than the adults around me. I watched as teachers gaped at the TV and tried their best to put on a strong face.
It was the morning of school pictures and I was in fifth grade. Ruling the school was what mattered most to me and words like twin towers or Pentagon didn't matter much to me. Yet, I somehow can't shake the feeling of that day 10 years later. It wasn't my understanding of the events that made me fearful and confused, but the way my family was that day. My parents were people who I could look to for answers and advice, but that day they had none. They were at a loss for a good explanation to give to such a young and innocent 10-year-old. They allowed me to watch the news, which provided me with pictures and live footage but not anymore clarity.
As each year passed, I began to understand more and more what 9/11 had done to our country and now that it is the 10th anniversary of the terrorist attacks on our country, I can't believe that it has been a decade. I remember everything so perfectly, and so vividly. We went through middle school, high school and half of college in what has been dubbed the "post-9/11 era." The events of that day haunt me every time I go to the airport, visit Washington, D.C. or Manhattan and the day I drove through Somerset County. The most documented event in history seeps into our living rooms and our libraries. Being from Connecticut, everyone knows someone directly whose life and family were affected by the day. Everyone has friends with parents who work in the city, friends who had to evacuate their apartment for months.
While it is easy to switch the channel when commemorative coverage comes on, as I was tempted to do Sunday morning, it is also important to put the remote down and watch. To remember. It is not easy by any means to watch real buildings with real people inside collapse in a heap, but it is important. We owe it to our country, to those who we lost, to those who so bravely walked into the burning buildings. It is important to remember these people not just on 9/11 but every other day of the year. We owe it to ourselves, children of the post-9/11 era, to understand what we grew up commemorating. We shall never forget, and always remember.
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