It was early. I mean like REALLY early... at least it felt really early, and as I look back on it I can't believe that I habitually forced myself to go through those early-morning rituals. But I did. It was early, and I was at marching band practice. It was a Tuesday, so we were at the Holt Arena. For those of you who don't know, the Holt Arena in Pocatello Idaho was the first indoor, enclosed football arena for college football and the second overall (right behind the Huston Astrodome). Anyway, early morning practices on Tuesdays and Thursdays were extra early, since we had to beat the ISU football team to practice. I seem to remember having a call time of around 5:45 a.m. Perhaps the early practice was why most of us totally missed the inital drama...
The actual practice was normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. We warmed up, marched, set drill and worked the kinks out of our show. We had a competition coming up so it was nearing crunch time. Around 7:30ish, our practice ended. I must have been listening to a CD... I don't remember hearing anything on the radio, which I'm sure I would have if it had been on. I remember racing another boy back to school. I can't remember who won, but it was fun. Just another day.
My first period was Spanish with "El" Senior Bell. I walked into the room and noticed the t.v. was on--it was odd. I don't ever remember walking into a class before that and seeing the t.v. on. I distinctly remember walking into the room and plopping my bag down onto the floor with a plunk and staring at the t.v. Senior Bell was writing something on the board and he turned to look at me starring at that t.v. with the oddest expression on his face... like he expected me to comment on the t.v. program... like I would have some profound opinion on whatever was going on. Looking back now I expect that he thought everyone already knew. Which, of course, I didn't.
Honestly, the biggest emotion I felt was confusion. As Senior Bell watched me--waiting for me to say something, expecting me to say something--I sat there staring at that television wondering what the heck replay movie Senior Bell was playing, because I definitely didn't remember any burning World Trade Centers from any of my history classes. I was wondering how I missed that lesson in all my 15 years of life.
That's when I saw the little word at the bottom of the screen that said "live."
It was about that point I finally did say something. It wasn't profound. It was in disbelief.
"What is this? Is this live?!"
He nodded with a somber expression on his face and told me of how early that morning two terrorist had hijacked some air planes and run them into the World Trade Centers. I was shocked. Dumfounded. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Wasn't it just a year ago that I stood atop those building in awe at their height, beauty and the sheer genius it took to build such incredible masterpieces? Wasn't it just mere months before that my brother and dad stood in those buildings? As the day unfolded I watched in horror as those masterpieces crumbled to the ground in a shower of debrie, choking black smoke and flame. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Questions surged through my mind.... Why? Who were those awful terrorists? Why did they hurt all those people? What if that had been me? What if it had been my family? But mostly just why.
I suspect we will all remember where we were and what we were doing on that fateful day in American history. In time we'll be able to look back and tell our children what happened and tell them that, "Yes, I lived through that." I knew so-and-so who was killed that day. I felt the pain of recovery as the nation mourned our great loss. I felt the hope as it pulled us together for a brief time. I remember the heros that immerged that day and in the days passing--those who went bravely in, while everyone else was trying to get out. We each have a story from that day. And we each remember it in our own way.
I don't know why I tell my story today, I guess its just my way of remembering.... my way of reminding myself of the percariousness of life and remembering lives lost and the heros who came forward on September 11, 2001. May we never forget.
The actual practice was normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. We warmed up, marched, set drill and worked the kinks out of our show. We had a competition coming up so it was nearing crunch time. Around 7:30ish, our practice ended. I must have been listening to a CD... I don't remember hearing anything on the radio, which I'm sure I would have if it had been on. I remember racing another boy back to school. I can't remember who won, but it was fun. Just another day.
My first period was Spanish with "El" Senior Bell. I walked into the room and noticed the t.v. was on--it was odd. I don't ever remember walking into a class before that and seeing the t.v. on. I distinctly remember walking into the room and plopping my bag down onto the floor with a plunk and staring at the t.v. Senior Bell was writing something on the board and he turned to look at me starring at that t.v. with the oddest expression on his face... like he expected me to comment on the t.v. program... like I would have some profound opinion on whatever was going on. Looking back now I expect that he thought everyone already knew. Which, of course, I didn't.
Honestly, the biggest emotion I felt was confusion. As Senior Bell watched me--waiting for me to say something, expecting me to say something--I sat there staring at that television wondering what the heck replay movie Senior Bell was playing, because I definitely didn't remember any burning World Trade Centers from any of my history classes. I was wondering how I missed that lesson in all my 15 years of life.
That's when I saw the little word at the bottom of the screen that said "live."
It was about that point I finally did say something. It wasn't profound. It was in disbelief.
"What is this? Is this live?!"
He nodded with a somber expression on his face and told me of how early that morning two terrorist had hijacked some air planes and run them into the World Trade Centers. I was shocked. Dumfounded. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Wasn't it just a year ago that I stood atop those building in awe at their height, beauty and the sheer genius it took to build such incredible masterpieces? Wasn't it just mere months before that my brother and dad stood in those buildings? As the day unfolded I watched in horror as those masterpieces crumbled to the ground in a shower of debrie, choking black smoke and flame. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Questions surged through my mind.... Why? Who were those awful terrorists? Why did they hurt all those people? What if that had been me? What if it had been my family? But mostly just why.
I suspect we will all remember where we were and what we were doing on that fateful day in American history. In time we'll be able to look back and tell our children what happened and tell them that, "Yes, I lived through that." I knew so-and-so who was killed that day. I felt the pain of recovery as the nation mourned our great loss. I felt the hope as it pulled us together for a brief time. I remember the heros that immerged that day and in the days passing--those who went bravely in, while everyone else was trying to get out. We each have a story from that day. And we each remember it in our own way.
I don't know why I tell my story today, I guess its just my way of remembering.... my way of reminding myself of the percariousness of life and remembering lives lost and the heros who came forward on September 11, 2001. May we never forget.
"We here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation shall have a new birth of freedom; and that this government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth." Abraham Lincoln, Gettysburg Address, 1863
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