I never wrote this down but I remember it like it was yesterday. The day the world changed forever– 9/11/01.

With the beginning of school and all these reflections I’ve had time to make, I can’t help but think of my teachers.

I remember Mrs. Castelli telling us she’d be back in a moment, someone else watching our door for a minute. I remember the teacher staying calm even though we asked what what was going on.

Even though no one told us kids what was going on, school basically just stopped. Everyone just stopped. People stopped teaching, people stopped talking, and teachers started coming in and out of rooms.

Now I know this is going to sound like I’m an old lady to young readers, but we didn’t have any electronics in the room. There was no TV or way to stream news. There were no cell phones. There were no Promethean or smart boards or access to the internet. So in our bubble, in our sole, solitude classroom, we had no idea what was going on.

What was happening was the teachers were leaving the room and going to get filled in about what was going on by other staff.

I did remember hearing faint sobs, a TV on in what must have been some kind of break room I’d never seen open before, now wedged open. As I now know, there were people finding out that their loved ones were in the building that was collapsing.

Still I don’t remember one teacher crying in front of us or making us nervous. Their voices stayed soft, they stepped out when they needed to. I never remember a teacher stepping out of my classroom ever otherwise. Not once besides 9/11 do I remember a teacher saying ‘give me a moment’ and leaving. I went to a Catholic school. My teacher was my home base for the whole day. Even in 8th grade you’re with one teacher for the majority of the day.

I remember so vividly when the names started coming over the loudspeaker. This was a small school so it’s not like they could send someone to get the kids. Name after name. Alex come to the office. Your parents are here. Max come to the office. Your parents are here. Sam come to the office. Your parents are here. Emily come to the office. Your parents are here. And I remember vividly it wasn’t just one name either. Siblings were getting picked up too. Name after name. Group after group.

My dad worked in Manhattan and left so early in the morning, I was never conscious to see him go. My dad was the kind of dad that had you go to school. He believed in school and said school was important and we really hardly ever missed school. My dad also wasn’t someone who was going to rip you out of school for just any reason. But then it happened.

I heard “Marc and Michelle come to the office. Your parents are here.” That’s me and my brother. I looked at my best friend Kimberley with horror and I said to her “My parents are here. Something really bad happened.” And I got up and went. The line of cars was something I’ll remember forever. I’d never seen so many frantic parents. I’m not sure I have since. People shoving inside to get on line to sign out their kids.

I remember saying that line to Kimberley like it was yesterday. And my parents coming– that truly was what made me realize something was happening. Why would my parents pull me out of school in the morning?

And of course now it’s dawning on me that the announcements aren’t stopping. The signing out procedure was daunting with such a long line then we were whooshed away into the car. My stepmom and dad making sure all of us kids were home.

Once we were home, I did have a TV maybe unfortunately looking back. We all had our own TVs. Everyone retreated into their rooms. My parents stayed discussing in the living room what was happening and watching on the TV there.

I watched those planes hit those towers for hours. It’s hard to explain now what TV was like but there was no other option. That was every single channel. You changed the channel and it was the plane hitting from another angle. Even the news casters sounded horrified as they spoke.

I was in my room and the world was silent.

I love TV. I always have. I find it to be a comfort even when I’m grading, the noise, uncomfortable in quiet. I always found it to be a comfort, but that day– that day it was horror. And yet, I couldn’t look away.

So I kept that TV on. I kept watching. I looked outside my front door where you could actually see the smoke from Manhattan. I truly didn’t even understand how that could be possible, but then I watched that TV. Hours and hours of that same footage.

People may ask what it was like to have missing family that day but I recall my parents and aunts and uncles being much like the teachers. I didn’t truly know how bad things were in that moment or those days until way later.

I was young enough to not really understand the gravity of the situation. In fact, I tried to walk to school the next day, on time, which I never was. I guess I was so desperate to get out of the house and away from that footage that I was willing to leave the house on time. My dad and my stepmom came barreling down the street. Literally saying out the window, “What are you doing?! Get in!!”

I didn’t understand– the world was different now but in my head I was just going to school.

The world was different and unfortunately it was never the same and never will be the same

My cousins lost a father, and truly wonderful man. A couple so perfect ripped apart for this waking life by a senseless act of violence. And of course so many people were sick after being at ground zero. The devastation that they caused so close to home. Many other couples and children with the same fate.

I remember then that I’d never seen the country more together. Kids from states down south sent teddy bears to my school. They had notes on them sending us their thoughts and prayers directly from another kid. 

People were singing songs about the USA, we did at school. People looked out for each other. It was a comfortable or calm seeming patriotism to me as a kid.

I’m not sure it was really that much like flowers and daisies looking back, but I also don’t know if the country will ever be that level of together again.

Today, through this memory, I choose to think of the heroes. The firefighters who lost their lives that day, and the ones that survived and lived through horrible illnesses after. The people that perished, some saving others along the way.

I think that throughout the worst evils, the most good shows through. The good people find a way to come together and help.

It was Mr Rogers who said, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”

New Yorkers are a different breed, and while crass, no one looks out for others more fiercely, especially in that time period. New York is full of the helpers, some of the bravest in the world.