I was in the 10th grade. The morning started off as any other, with my morning bike to school. My first class was Spanish. There were rumors of confused news reports about a small plane accidentally glancing off of the World Trade Center, but our teacher would allow no distractions. Our class plowed through the planned material.
But when I arrived at 2nd period chemistry, it was clear that this was no normal day, no small news story, and no accident. Our chemistry teacher didn't say much, and didn't attempt to teach class. We listened to the radio reports from shocked and confused journalists in New York. We heard that commercial airliners had been hijacked and crashed into the towers and the Pentagon; that both towers had just fallen; that the streets of Manhattan were rivers of dust and ash; that tens of thousands were injured, trapped, or dead.
It took time for the magnitude of the reports to crystallize in my head. This had happened on American soil? The shock was profound to me, a teenager who had never heard of a disaster of this scale in my own country during my own lifetime. The next few hours are now just a blur, but I know the question eventually solidified: what was going to be attacked next? Every feeling of comfort and safety was shattered, for myself and everybody around me.
I remember sitting with friends in the school cafeteria at lunch time. Half of the students had already left school. In my recollection, there was no official release by the administration, but our teachers were also in shock, and knew that on this day, nobody was thinking of anything else. Some kids had left or been pulled out by their parents so they could be with their families. Some kids left because they were afraid that the school might be targeted, images of Columbine High School still fresh in their minds. Other kids didn't immediately grip the gravity of the event, saw the reign of chaos in the school, and left because they smelled the opportunity for a day of freedom.
When I got home, I sat in a daze in front of the TV news reports. The hijackers had been foreign terrorists. My train of thought was, "Really? Who would want to do that to us? We're Americans! We have our faults, but no one actually hates us, do they?" There had been four planes, and one had mysteriously gone down in a field in Pennsylvania; there were hazy reports that the passengers might have fought the hijackers and forced the plane down. The whole thing was entirely surreal.
The end of the day seemed drained of hope, but over the next weeks and months, I saw the country come together in strength and hope. Out of the wreckage, miraculous stories of heroism, courage and compassion emerged. For every mention of the innocent lives lost, there were tales of the brave people that selflessly gave for their fellow human beings. That day touched the life of every American, and I like to think that we've become better for it, as a nation and a people.
