September Eleventh, 2016
You need only look at your calendar to realize the significance of this day.
It’s been fifteen years.
Fifteen years since just under three thousand firemen, police officers, and civilians lost their lives in fault to the worst American-targeted attack since Pearl Harbor.
I wasn’t alive to remember that. But my parents were. My grandparents were.
Most adults can remember where they were at that moment. Not long after 8:20 am, family and friends were exchanging calls and texts, telling each other one thing; Turn on the TV
What they saw when they turned on the screen was unbelieveable. It was one of those times where you don’t want to watch, but you can’t take your eyes off of the screen. People jumping out of 90th story windows, because they wanted to die their own way. Not at the hand of terrorists.
Not only did we see the evidence, we heard it. Phone calls from people on board Flight 93. People in the buildings. Messages left on the phones of loved ones, telling that they loved them.
This was, and still is, one of the most tragic events in American history. Possibly the most.
Most kids my age just hear the stories. Most of us weren’t there. If we were, we were too young to really remember anything.
So today, I realized how lucky kids of my age are. We are the the descendants of the fathers, sons, mothers, and daughters that were old enough to remember. We have the chance to understand the lengths of what happened through stories from people who vividly remember the terrorist attacks of 9/11.
But our kids? Our grandchildren?
They will hear the stories, but those are stories that will lose detail over time. Don’t get me wrong – the stories of Flight 93, both World Trade centers – they will be passed down through the generations. But no matter how much we ingrain it into their brains, they will never truly understand it.
Frankly, I will never truly understand.
That is what saddens me. The truth that no matter how many stories are told, how many memorials are built, only those who were actually alive and old enough to remember will truly, honest-to-god understand it.
But here is what I do understand:
Fathers, Mothers, Brothers, and Sisters lost family and friends that day.
Firefighters, policemen, and regular civilians sacrificed themselves to protect and defend the rest of America.
I understand the tragedy and importance of what occurred on that dreadful day.
These are two of my favorite clips from The Newsroom. These may seem a little out of place, but I feel they serve a certain significance..
Do you have a story about 9/11? Do you remember where you were at the time?
Like it? Hate it? Tell me in the comments, and I’ll be sure to respond.