Six times the bell is rung. Once for the first plane, once for the second plane, for the first tower, for the second, for the Pentagon, and for Shanksville, PA. On this day we remember, chaos, fear, and courage. We remember seeing people leaping from the windows of the World Trade Center, the dead being carried from the Pentagon, the obliterated field in quiet Pennslyvania. As the bagpipes play Amazing Grace, we remember the only time we ever knew terror in our hearts, in our hometowns.
And it strikes me funny almost, that the children I see in my dining hall every day don't really know what it means. Some weren't born yet, some were just too young to understand. I was 21 when it happened. I never knew fear before that moment. I wasn't around for air raid drills, or the Cuban Missile Crisis. This was my Cuban Missile Crisis. Only they weren't missiles, they were planes. And now, every time I see one in the sky, I watch it for a moment. I know that, reasonably, its unlikely that there will ever be another attack like that. But I still watch.
Next year, that bell will ring again. Six times. Once for each plane, once for each tower, once for the fortress, once for the field.
We will never forget.
1 comment:
That was beautiful. If only everyone remembered as you did. I had never felt such fear in my life, mostly because the people I loved most were not within my touch at that moment. I think we should be reminded every day.
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