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We All Remember

Updated on September 23, 2012
I did not make or take this photo. I found it online.
I did not make or take this photo. I found it online.

How many times can you read it? How many times can it be written? How many times can it be asked? How many times can you ask?

The phrase connected to nine eleven has been used so much it’s become a cliché. I’ll write it just once to clarify what I’m talking about, in case there is someone that has been living under a rock for the past eleven years. “Where were you during nine eleven?”

We all remember where we were. Every generation has one of those ‘where were you?’ events. (This has also been used enough to be a cliché, but it’s true.) These do happen in every generation. And, although they are tragic, they are also needed. These are the types of events that enemies expect to break us. They are wrong. These events keep our country whole and strong. These are the events that pull us together and fill us with rage. They make us fight back.

When someone attacks my sister, they are attacking me. When someone attacks my mother, they better be damn sure they know how to defend themselves because I have a rather large family. We don’t back down. These events do pull us together. At every age level they help us somehow. I know you remember where you were. I remember where I was.

I was in third grade art class. The day had started out as normal: I took the bus to school, waited for the day to officially start, the teacher took roll, daily announcements were made and we went to art class. There was no pledge; there was no playing of the national anthem or a moment of silence. (When I first started to go to this school I found it strange because we did it every day at my old school in Massachusetts, but not here in Tennessee. I never really liked it.)

We had a free day in art. (We didn’t know it was because the teacher was too upset to actually teach). Free days meant we could draw whatever we wanted. I was drawing Old Glory. Something I drew on literally every free day. I never seemed to get my stars just right, so I kept working at it. The class started to get louder than usual and the teacher had to ask us to get quite. He was an older gentleman.

I can still hear his usually fragile and gentle voice. That day he was strong and stern. “Boys and girls, I need you to settle down today. Something’s happened in New York and I need to hear the radio.”

I remember who was sitting beside me (I hated her; she hated me). I even remember what I was doing. I can still recall finishing my flag in complete silence as tears streamed down my face after hearing what the reporters on the radio said. The girl beside me put her crayons down and actual reached over and hugged me; I hugged her back.

The next day was different. The bus was quieter, so was the classroom, the teacher had on her radio, she was listening to the reports. Then there was an announcement saying that we were going to be saying the pledge every day, and having a moment of silence, from then on. It was true. We said the pledge every day, for the rest of my school career, starting on Wednesday; September 12, 2001. These events change us. They force us to be strong.

Yeah, I remember where I was. We all remember.

© 2012 info-overload


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    • nighthag profile image

      K.A.E Grove 

      7 years ago from Australia

      a beautiful gentle read that actually brought tears to my eyes, even here in Australia this event stopped a nation and brought so many countries together in one moment of shared grief.


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