Six years ago I began my first year as a teacher. Aimed at “saving them all”, I assigned vocabulary words, but no words they defined carried the weight of terrorism, and nothing I could do would save them all from what happened next. They worked diligently to create organized character sketches of the colorful beings in The Canterbury Tales, but no antagonist fit the evil that reigned down on the World Trade Center.
Six years ago I received a call from the office instructing me to turn on the television.
Six years ago I gave my students permission—no, I insisted that they call their parents, some of which were on business trips in New York. I walked the halls in one of those moments that only movies capture in slow motion.
Six years ago I peered through classroom doors and witnessed people jumping from the inferno in a last ditch effort to spare their own life. Papers were scattered and fell like confetti, but this was not a celebration—not for our country.
Six years ago I filled my gas tank and watched as fuel prices rose. President Bush declared war and I fell to my knees. Six years ago I saw more candles lit than I had in my entire life. I don’t know what echoed louder—the tumbling of the towers or the fighter jets that flew security routes overhead.
Six years ago our country was reborn, re-educated, re-visited. And yet today, we seem annoyed by it all. We point fingers in all directions and say, “Six years ago…” The yellow ribbons are worn and tattered, along with our efforts and our soldiers. Grave plots are full, yet we still make room in our landscape, but what about our hearts?
Six years ago seems like history, yet it hardly fills a page, if any, in our textbooks.
Six years ago presidents and presidential candidates rallied together. Today they do the same, but to only criticize everything from taxes to natural disaster relief efforts.
Six years later, the towers have fallen and the area has been cleared.