I remember sitting in my eighth grade classroom. Someone came to the door and whispered a message to the teacher. I can't remember how they announced it to us. The next recollection is of all of us turned in our chairs to watch a tiny TV screen at the back of the classroom. I didn't know exactly where my dad worked, but I knew it was in the vicinity of the World Trade Center. I remember the panic slowly building in my chest. I don't remember getting home afterward. I don't remember watching the news about the 9/11 attacks. But the memory of that fear still brings tears to my eyes as I write this. I remember the relief when I learned my dad was okay.
Now that another September 11th has passed us by, I think it's safe to say that we haven't yet lost the horror of that day, even though it happened 11 years ago. And I hope that even the generations who didn't experience the tragedy will remember it through stories and news reports and photos. All of those things are painful, but I think we need them to throw salt in the wound so that it won't heal up, lest we forget. My heart goes out to everyone who lost someone.
I wish that everyone in the world could just exist in peace.