"All men are equal before fish." - Herbet Hoover
I was not going to write anything today. I was young enough ten years ago that I have very little to say. But then I thought that that is perhaps something of a unique perspective. Too young to be told everything, too young to really understand, but old enough to remember.
My uncle used to work in the Pentagon. Yes, on that side. He managed to find a working pay phone by the time I got home from school, so I was spared from the worst of my family's terror.
I remember the teachers whispering. I remember a boy (his name was Adam) from another class who had overheard their conversations shouting the news out to the rest of us. I remember a brief moment of anxiety, and I remember reassuring myself that bad things only happened to other families, as awful of a thought as that is. I remember staring thoughtfully at the American flag hanging over the board for the rest of the afternoon, to which we pledged our allegiance every morning at 9:15. "Terrorist" was added to my vocabulary.
There are people, both under 10 and over, who ask "What's 9/11?". There are people like my sisters who simply don't remember that day. And then there are people--many, many people--who will never forget.
I haven't watched any of the news coverage today; that's for the adults. That's for the people who remember more than a few vague images and impressions. I read a book earlier this year, however, called Love is the Higher Law (by David Levithan) about several teenagers living in NYC in the days following after, which I found incredibly moving. It was strange to read about people only slightly older than I am now, dealing with the problems my location and age had miraculously allowed me to avoid. It put things in perspective more than anything I've read in the past few weeks.
My dad called my uncle today. He is redoing the drywall in his hallway. "I love you," my dad said as they neared the end of their conversation. "I love you too," my uncle replied. "Thanks for calling, bro."