I was an 11-year-old, sixth grader sitting in my vocabulary class when the first plane hit. The classroom television was quickly turned to Fox News where the sight of New York ‘s skyline bled smoke.
Those images quickly made school irrelevant.
At that very moment, the carnage looked like an accident, a freak act of destruction. The puzzled TV anchors were reporting the incident as just a plane crash, and for a moment, the images on the TV were nothing more.
My classroom filled with excitement and questions concerning the images of devastation coming from downtown Manhattan. But when a second 747 hit the second tower, it was clear that this was no accident.
It was a strategically planned attack.
The fact that there was nothing to do but dig in the rubble for survivors and then mourn was a paralyzing truth to any kid who hoped war would stay in the history books.
From that day forward, our comfort level changed forever.
My only real question was “Why?”
Here in Miami, 1,288 miles from the twin towers, every TV replayed the images of that morning, and anyone who watched it understood the dynamics.
Ten years later the war is still being fought and there is little evidence of any success, but I, as an American, put those prospects aside when I remember the events of that sunny blue Tuesday.
There was no choice against that war; just like there was no choice against digging in the rubble for survivors moments after the two buildings fell like a house of cards.
Kids my age will never forget the images of that day; horrible things I’d rather not list here.
We can only hope that the chance for world peace during our lifetime didn’t fall with the towers.
