Lest I Forget
I was sitting in Mrs. Rogers' seventh grade physical science class.
The day was clear outside and I remember peeling the sole of my
Nikes off the sticky tile floor under my plastic desk.
It was a day like any other - until an urgent knock rapped the classroom door.
The teacher went out into the hall, conversed with an unseen authority, then came back into the classroom looking like she had seen a ghost. She told us a terrible tragedy was unfolding and without another word, left the room and returned with a fatback tube TV on a push cart.
Our lives ceased to be innocent that day. We sat in awe and watched as black smoked billowed out of one of the World Trade Center towers. I thought it was bad, but the gravity of the situation had not yet set in. Surely it was an accident - a miscalculation from some rookie pilot.
Then, we collectively wrenched and were stunned when the second plane hit. We watched all morning as reports came in of terrorists. People both in our school and on TV were saying the Pentagon had been bombed. Our country was under attack.
Several students were checked out by their parents. Our civics teacher explained concepts to us like Osama Bin Laden, al-Qaeda and the Taliban - in the event our parents couldn't,
I remember how quiet the ride home on the school bus was. Normally loud and jovial children had seemingly aged years in just a few hours. I remember how gravely concerned - yet reserved - my own parents were when they returned from work. Dinner was short and eaten in silence in front of the TV as news updates rolled in.
And I remember loading up into the car as a family and going to church. To add perspective, we were a Sunday morning family - not one that went to church during the week - so I knew this had to be something historic.
I grew up Baptist, but denomination didn't matter that day. Our church was packed with familiar faces and strang-
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