I Remember.

I remember September 11, 2001.I remember where I was, what I was doing, who I was with.I was a seventh grader.I was in homeroom.My principal came over the P.A. system and announced that a plane had crashed into one of the Twin Towers.I had only been to New York once at this point and I was only 3 when I went.I knew of the Twin Towers.My classmates seemed to share my same lackadaisical/nonchalant attitude.We were switching classes at this point.My class had to go to Spanish.We walked down the hall, both classrooms were not far from each other.There were no kids walking around nor any classroom doors open.We sat in our regular seats.Our Spanish teacher had her television on.And that's when it happened. We saw the other plane hit.I gasped. My classmates on either side of me gasped. My teacher's eyes widened.I still remember the voice of the announcer... but I can't remember a thing they were saying.I don't think I've ever felt so helpless, so insecure, so unsafe.I remember them speaking about other reports of threats.About the president.But all I could see was ash, smoke, and people who looked like ghosts trying to make their way out of the rubble.It still troubles me when I see images of that day.I remember crying when I got home.I remember just sitting in front of the television trying to wrap my head around all the information.The next day, I wore my little American flag pin on my uniform.I remember all that cars with their American flags, all the houses, too.That day changed our history and our lives.Grandparents may have the World Wars,Our parents my have Kennedy and Vietnam, Our generation must remember September 11th 2001.I visited New York City the following year with my family for the holidays.I have an uncle and aunt, and little cousins who live up there.We went to Ground Zero.The images I remember are of the gates surrounding the area filled with cards, pictures, MISSING posters.I returned in 2006, and rode the subway into the train station.You could see the still empty space where they are supposedly building a memorial.I went to the little church around the corner that seemed so out of place in the city.Inside, it had become a memorial, filled with firefighters' helmets, policeman badges, photographs, poems.I got an awful feeling in my stomach when I saw the letters written in children's handwriting.You think about all the kids that lost their parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles...I know how awful they must feel.My eyes water every time I hear "Proud to be an American" or when I see a soldier and their family.But as much as it may hurt to remember, I think we must do it because we are Americans, whether born here, raised here, moved here, or just like visiting, it is who we are.Americans fall and get right back up.