Growing up I would always hear people in my parents generation talk about where they were when President Kennedy was shot or my grandparents talk about when Pearl Harbor was bombed. Tragedy is an odd way to benchmark time and space. Yet, those of my generation are sure to remember this morning just where they stood when airplane one hit and then again as the horror of another and the realization fell upon us all that this was no accident.
Me? Bob and I had just woken up and heard the news on the alarm clock radio about the first plane. We were saddened hearing about such a tragic accident but continued to get our adorable little blond haired Kindergartener ready for school while getting the cute little 3 year old out of his crib. By the time we got downstairs for breakfast in our tiny little starter home, we knew it was not an accident. I can’t remember why but Bob continued to take Connor to St. Francis for school and headed to work at a bank in downtown Phoenix. They were on the freeway 20 mins before I was frantically calling them to come home. Everything was closing. Everyone was being advised to stay home. Everything was wrong.
Fast-forward to when Connor was a Freshman. His history teacher lamented at Parent-Teacher night how his was the first class that did not remember where they were when the airplanes hit. I hadn’t thought of that, but how true. They were the first to not remember a world pre-9/11. I certainly remember where he was and how panicked I was to get him home. I remember the fear instilled in my heart that day. An innocence of a generation lost who had not yet seen a foreign attack on American soil.
His teachers truth made me oddly happy. I am happy my boys were just 3 & 5 on that horrible day. I am glad they don’t remember. As I said before, tragedy is an odd way to benchmark time and space and I feel blessed that they have yet to truly understand that lesson.