This is mine.
September 11 is the birthday of one of my son's best friends. In 2001 he spent the night before at his friend's house, so in the morning I was spared the joy of getting him a breakfast and off to school. As was my habit in those days I was downstairs in my home office early in the morning writing when an Instant Message from my niece in Buffalo fairly jumped off the screen telling me to turn on the television. The set warmed up and showed a picture just in time for me to witness the second airliner hitting the second tower of the World Trade Center. I had no idea whether what I was watching was real or something left over from an all-night terror movie marathon, but an announcer cleared that up as soon as he quit saying oh my god about a hundred times.
I knew pretty quickly writing was over for the morning and I sat, my full attention glued to the TV as I watched the horrors slowly unfold, sorting out the rumors every announcer seemed to report and trying to figure out exactly what happened, and what was truth and what was an overanxious talking head's imagination.
What I thought was I wanted to be with my son. At that time in life I taught a writing session once a week in his class for two hours. I thought about the kids and when it seemed a good time, I called his teacher to ask if I could help in some way, if only to be in the classroom with the kids and try to answer any questions they had and maybe just be a solid presence.
She said all right, so I did that. Knowing little more than they did, but helping them sort out what was fact and what was rumor and reassuring them that I was fairly sure nothing in Alaska was worth a terrorist's firepower. Of course we were three miles away from the Alyeska Pipeline Terminal at the time. My thought was terror meant affecting as many people as possible and there weren't that many in our little corner of the world.
When regular classes started I left hoping I had helped in some way.
Later in the week I think I might have. I was always looking for writing projects for the kids. I thought they would learn more writing than listening to me spout off so they spent most of their time in that class writing. But finding ideas for them was sometimes taxing.
No problem this week. I found a timeline of events on a web site and copied it, changed the times to Alaska time and then printed it out, later making enough copies at school. In class that morning I started by telling them that just about every generation has some kind of defining moment, something that happened where you never forget where you were when you heard it. I said my parents' was probably Pearl Harbor Day, My own was probably the assassination of John F. Kennedy. And, then I told them that 9/11 just might be theirs. So, I assigned them to write down everything they could remember from that morning. From how they learned about what happened, to what they had for breakfast; what did they wear to school, were they afraid; what did their friends think, any detail no matter how small, so that they could remember the day accurately. I gave them each a copy of the timeline to help out, so maybe they could compare events in their lives with those in New York and Washington and Pennsylvania.
This was a two hour class of fifth or sixth graders, but they were quiet for a long time, most of the first hour. I always started the class with an in-their-seats yoga exercise and when they got antsy later on, we would all stand up and do a sun salute. We did that, they sat and worked a little longer and when most had finished we talked more about the events until the end of the hour.
During their computer class that week they went to the computer lab and typed their stories into the machine and we printed them all out. Then I bought a bunch of nice folders and the teacher and I made a folder for each kid with their story and the timeline in it. I can't remember now but I think we might have put all the kids' stories in each folder but I am not sure. Anyway we gave those to the kids to save.
On the tenth anniversary, they were all in their early 20s and now in their 30s and I would like to think at least some of them still have their folders and maybe can pull them out and read a little of what they thought about it all those years ago.
At the 10th anniversary I encountered a strange coincidence that just that morning I came across a blog written by one of them and it was written beautifully. Another one of those kids was a Marine in Afghanistan at that time.
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