Ten years ago right now, I was in my first year as a full-time teacher at Woodbrook. On my way in to work that day, I heard on the radio the early reports of a plane hitting the World Trade Center. At this time, like most other people, thought this was an accident. I dismissed early speculations of terrorism as being from those who love to stir up drama in the everyday.
The kids came in having heard about the tragedy, taking the few facts they knew and making up the rest, the way all fifth graders and, sadly, some adults do. I quickly told them to sit down, and told them not to listen to what other people were saying because no one had it right.
At 8:20, the kids went to specials. I went to the library, where Mrs. Scott and Mrs. Melchi had the TV on in the back room. As we stood there watching, the second plane hit. That was the moment we all realized that this was no accident, and our world changed forever. A chill went up my spine.
We were supposed to not tell the kids a thing. Teaching the kids about landforms and fractions seemed almost silly at that point, but it gave me something else to focus on. At the end of the day, Mr. Akin came on over the wall-mounted televisions to tell the whole school about what had happened, and that they would find out more about it when they got home.
That night, I just remember going for a drive through the country, and looking up at the sky and feeling that bizarre, eerie unity that everyone in the United States was on the ground. There were no airplanes up there at all. Everyone in the country had the same uncertainty on their minds as we sat there on the ground that night.
The next day, I had my students just sit and write responses to what had happened the day before. I collected them, and without meaning to, held onto them for several years. When I found them later on, I realized that those raw, fearful words were primary historical documents. What I found upon rereading them, though, was just how young fifth graders really are. I ended up mailing them to those students the year they graduated high school.
No one really knew what to do with themselves for several days after. Those of you who were in Carmel at the time, I’m sure you remember the next Friday night, when everyone went to the high school football stadium for the candlelight vigil. Everyone looked like they had been punched in the stomach that night.
That’s where I was. I’m sure everyone has their own stories of where they were and when they found out. How could you not?
On Friday, I overheard a few kids talking about how we’re all going to die over the weekend because “They” are going to get back at us on the anniversary. I told them that we’re going to be fine, that there are people whose job it is to make sure that doesn’t happen, that we are well protected, but I wanted you guys all to know that some of your kids are worried.
This is from the book The World According to Mister Rogers, originally from a PSA by Mr. Fred Rogers following the events in September of 2001:
If you grew up with our Neighborhood, you may remember how we sometimes talked about difficult things. There were days…even beautiful days…that weren’t happy. In fact, there were some that were really sad.
Well, we’ve had a lot of days like that in our whole world. We’ve seen what some people do when they don’t know anything else to do with their anger.
I’m convinced that when we help our children find healthy ways of dealing with their feelings--ways that don’t hurt them or anyone else--we’re helping to make our world a safer, better place.
I would like to tell you what I often told you when you were much younger: I like you just the way you are.
And what’s more, I’m so grateful to you for helping the children in your life to know that you’ll do everything you can to keep them safe and help them express their feelings in ways that will bring healing in many different neighborhoods.
Let’s all be good to each other this week. As the great Mr. Red Green is known to say, “We’re all in this together.”
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