Ten years ago today, I was sitting in Mrs. Woodall’s ninth grade English class at Kent Place School in Summit, New Jersey, forty-five minutes from Broadway, so to speak. Actually, that’s about all I remember. I don’t remember hearing the news, or first seeing footage of the towers on TV–the next thing I remember, after where I was when planes flew into the World Trade Center, is clambering down four flights of stairs and seeing the entire high school gathered in the front lobby, girls hugging each other and crying. My history teacher, Mr. Kurz, left school early that day because his wife was teaching in a school near the towers. But even if I don’t remember so clearly, something changed that day.
I’ve been trying to remember what it was like before, but all I can muster is a sort of vague impression. I’ve lived nearly half of my life in the shadow of the World Trade Center attacks; that’s more or less my reality. I can’t imagine what it must be like for children born after 2001 who have never known another way.
Surreal, really–blogging about the tenth anniversary of September 11th from another country.