Where were you?

Where were you?

This question used to apply to Kennedy. Everyone knew where they were the day JFK was assassinated. Whether you believe is was a mass conspiracy or a lone gunman, it was an event that shook our nature and reshaped the fabric of our culture.

Now we face a new milestone. It was not just the death toll of those four planes and their devastating effects. It's not just the war on terror and its lasting effects. Whether you are pro-war, pro-peace, or prosaically indifferent to the whole thing, whether you are American, Mexican, Canadian, Japanese, British, Muslim, Buddhist, or even French (insert obligatory sneer, followed by politically correct "just kidding"), September 11, 2001 is a day that shook this world.

Those terrorists wanted something visual, and they got it! The site of those massive buildings falling, of the Pentagon in flames, of the atrocious loss of life on that Pennsylvania field, was a horror now ingrained into the human psyche. Centuries from now, children will read about this day as the first move in events that will shape the 21st Century. Millenniums will pass, and the story of the Two Towers (don't perk up so excitedly, Tolkien fans) will be recited around campfires, a story considered a myth, but an enduring one, like the Tower of Babel or the fall of Jericho.

So I ask you: where were you on 9/11?



I had gone to college early that morning. I had just finished a boring stint studying in the math lab. I noticed more than the usual amount of people on the computers looking up what I assumed was political news. Images of President Bush and views of New York. Odd for a math lab.

I finished early and decided to call up my then-boyfriend/now-husband to see if he could meet me for an early lunch. Matt sounded terrified, asking if I was alright. I was casually walking down the steps of the science/math building, thinking what a lovely day it was (ironic, because it was about to become dark). As I walked down, he frantically explained, "It's World War III out there! They've destroyed the World Trade Center, blew it up with airplanes, and they hit the Pentagon too. We're at WAR!!!"

Odd, but the news of the attack on the Pentagon hit me worse at that moment. The mind focuses on what it can grasp. Blowing of the WTC? That was something out of Hollywood. I imagined maybe a gapping hole, not that they were actually destroyed. But the Pentagon? A symbol of military prowess! How?

I stopped dead in my tracks, whispered "What?" in disbelief, and grabbed hold of the sprawling steps' handrail, barely able to keep hold of the phone as Matt gave me what few details were known for a certainty.

I looked around at the people around me. It was as if I had been blind just a moment before.

Lovely day???

I suddenly saw huddles of young women walking through the hallways, holding onto each other as they cried. I saw an 18-year-old Freshman walking like wood, his eyes strained, his jaw tight to hold in the anger and numbed horror. And there were some still walking to and fro to class, blissfully unaware, laughing and fooling around as college students should, blind, as I had been blind, to the gnashing and weeping filling the campus.

I vividly recall seeing a young Muslim woman sitting on her prayer rug on the Quad grass, she and a group of other Muslims joined together for daily prayer, now busy listening to a radio in gapping disbelief (this was, of course, before the words radical Muslims and the racial fear associated with it ever entered our innocent minds, a time when seeing Muslims praying in the Quad was not a deal at all). I remember she was shouting, "They are cowards, who do this! Cowards!" At the time, there was no clue who might have pulled off such a terrorist act.

Matt rushed to the school to pick me up, insisting I not go to anymore of my classes. I protested at first, but when I saw the images on TV, school was the last thing on my mind. Matt lived near John Wayne Airport, and the roaring sound of incoming and outgoing planes was usual, hardly even noticed after a while. On that day, the skies were silent, which added to the odd solemness. I called my mom, and she did not want me to take the bus back home. Even at that point, there was a fear toward public transportation. My parents would go on to drive me to school for the next week, fearing a bus bomb.

I did go to school the next day, a Wednesday. I had a light schedule, but I had band class that night. i remember sitting with the other French hornists, discussing what we saw on the TV, how the planes turned to the side for maximum damage, about where Flight 93 might have been heading, wondering still who might have orchestrated it all (if you remember, Osama bin Laden denied any involvement for years, and to this day the FBI admits he is still only a suspect, albeit a rather believable scapegoat).

The following days were numbed. I knew no victims, but I knew some people living in NYC at the time who saw the whole thing play out in too-real horror. Matt's cousin lived mere blocks away from the World Trade Center. A WTC employee my sister frequently corresponded with for work was killed. Plus there was the whole bus-bomb scare, and that was my sole means of transportation. The ripples of that day are still felt six years later, and will likely continue to affect us throughout our lives.



So, that's my story. That's where I was on that day, walking down the steps exiting the math lab, happy at such a beautiful morning. And into that stereotypical optimism and ignorance, the spear of hatred was thrust. Still, although some may toss spears and arrows of hate and fear at us, Godly love, respect, and honor shall prevail.