First, a brief life update. I’ve started my new job and have spent the past week and a half with the students. It feels amazing to be back in a school and having face-to-face lessons again. However, I forgot how exhausting it was. I definitely need to find ways to boost my energy. Overall, while it’s always rewarding to work with children, I am feeling quite overwhelmed and stressed at the moment. There is a big learning curve, and the typical craziness that comes with a new school year isn’t helping. I’d like to apologize to those close to me if I’ve been MIA or just haven’t been myself recently. I’m working to establish a routine, find a balance, and set healthy boundaries for myself. It will take time. But my hope and expectation is that I will eventually succeed in this job. I have no choice.
I think about the things I’m going through today and recognize that my issues are nothing compared to what happened in New York City, Washington, D.C., and Shanksville, Pennsylvania on September 11, 2001. Nearly 3,000 people left home and never came back.
But the numbers don’t tell the whole story. It’s the empty seats at dinner tables. It’s the “I love yous” that were said for the last time (you can never say that too much to the people you care about). It’s the little kids who would never get to see their parents again, juxtaposed with the parents who would never get to see their children get married and begin lives of their own.
Flight bags that would never be unpacked. Bedtime stories that would never be told. Joyous celebrations and reunions that would never happen.
It’s gutwrenching.
Even now as an adult, I still can’t comprehend that day. Imagine how 12-year-old me must have felt.
Let’s take a look back.
I actually remember that time in my life pretty well. I had an amazing summer full of swimming in my family’s pool, playing baseball in my backyard, and eating my grandmother’s absolutely delectable cooking. I was slowly moving out of the Pokemon cards phase and into the rebellious phase, and by that I mean rooting for different sports teams than my family did. Speaking of sports, I remember that my 12-year-old self loved NASCAR. A lot. Much to my mother’s chagrin, I would race matchbox cars on her coffee table. I was traumatized by the death of Dale Earnhardt earlier that year and thought that was the worst thing that could possibly happen. With all due respect to #3, little did I know what was coming…
I had just started 7th grade at Cohoes Catholic School. It was a very small school; I only had 12 kids in my class. The following year, I would be part of the school’s penultimate graduating class before dwindling enrollment shut its doors for good. I was a good student but admittedly kind of a dork.
It was first period and I was in the front row of Teddi Bullock’s history class. Mrs. Bullock, God rest her soul, was definitely a memorable teacher. She liked plays, movies, and songs. She did not like side conversations during her lessons or students stressing the wrong syllable in her last name. I remember the principal coming in and telling us that a plane had flown into a building. I tried to visualize it in my head and remember imagining “how could that happen?” My naive self thought that the pilot must have fallen asleep or something.
I think the school tried to shelter us from the information as much as possible so that we wouldn’t panic. We were not sent home early, but I know of others who were. When he picked me up that afternoon, my dad told me that Osama bin Laden did this and that it was the most serious attack in American history.
Even then, I was still like, “yeah, that’s sad, but whatever.” Don’t get me wrong, I knew it was a terrible day for America, but my prepubescent self still could not fully comprehend the world around me. My major concerns were whether I’d still be able to go to my dentist appointment after school and if my family and I would be able to complete our move a few weeks later. The answers to both of those questions were yes (fun fact: I had X-rays done on my teeth that day).
It didn’t fully hit me until later that day. The first thing that tipped me was the seemingly incomprehensible news that all of the sports were cancelled.
Whoa. That could never happen, could it? These attacks were officially a big deal.
But in all seriousness, I saw the images on TV and just sat there numb. Once I saw those, even 12-year-old me could tell that we were living through the darkest day in American history. New York City, where I had been three weeks earlier to watch the Yankees lose to the Seattle Mariners, was on fire. The mighty Twin Towers had been reduced to rubble. First responders literally giving their lives to help others. George Bush, whose election I had advocated for less than a year earlier (yes, I was a wannabe politician at one time, hence the dork reference earlier), taking out the megaphone and promising that the people who did this would be heard from all of us very soon. Rudy Giuliani (before he turned into a complete imbecile) delivering heroic leadership and becoming the face of America. Shortly after came the beginning of a 20-year struggle in Afghanistan. There was no doubt in my mind that the world had changed forever. Even a 12-year-old could see that.
I even became a little scared for a time. After all, Cohoes was only three hours away from New York. Not that I’ve ever been a great sleeper (anxiety will do that to you), but I had difficulty sleeping for weeks following the attacks. I honestly questioned whether or not I was safe.
Luckily, I did turn out to be safe but know that far too many others unfortunately did not. But I will always be proud of the way America came together in the wake of the attacks. For those of you non-Americans who might be reading this, I don’t know if I can fully put into words the unity and resiliency that my country showed in the days and weeks that followed. Patriotism was at all-time high. And today, on the 20th anniversary, people will once again come together, honor the innocent lives which were taken that day, reflect, reminisce, and tell their stories.
While America may not be my home right now, I will always be an American and will always, even in the craziness of my career, take time to honor and thank the troops who have always kept me, my loved ones, and my fellow Americans safe.
The number one lesson I learned from 9/11 is to never take life for granted. You truly never know what can happen. First responders, office workers, entrepreneurs, and so many others left home on that beautiful Tuesday morning anticipating that they would see their loved ones again in a matter of hours. But unbeknownst to them, it would turn into their last ever “I love yous” and goodbye kisses.
This is a big reason I always say “I love you” to my family members and close friends. I say it so much that some might get tired of hearing it. But I know that I will never get tired of hearing it or saying it. Never miss an opportunity to express your appreciation to the people who mean the most to you.
Hug your family a little tighter today. I wish I had the chance to (one of the things that sucks about living abroad), but I’ll send virtual hugs.
And pray for the victims and their families. This isn’t an easy day for anyone in America, but it’s particularly heartbreaking for those who lost a loved one on that fateful day. Even 10, 20, and 50 years from now, it will never get easier for them. The best thing we can do is support them and stand united with each other.
United We Stand.
Czeching Out the World of TEFL 