Remembering September 11th, 2001
I taught in a middle school in a small community forty miles from Boston. Every September the seventh grade attended a one week nature/science camp three hours away. They slept in dorms, learned new skills, participated in skits, sang songs and engaged in activities meant to bond them together as a group. For some youngsters that week meant a first time away from home. All the seventh grade teachers participated as well as a few good souls—who didn't value lots of sleep.If you taught seventh grade you helped out in the library, taught those few youngsters who remained home, and worked on some projects. The library became a teacher's enclave. I'm not certain who first turned on the television or why. Maybe Kathy, the librarian, heard the news or maybe parents started calling the office.
Our principal quickly disabled all the televisions save the one in the library. The parents who called made it clear—they wanted to be the ones to speak to their children. The decision was made—don't notify the camp and don't alert the children in the school. No cell phones or electronic devices were allowed in camp. The only way to get hold of someone was to use the camp phone.
Kathy turned on the overhead monitor and teachers in the room pulled the blue leather chairs close up. I recall sitting next to Gail, the school psychologist. We watched—shocked, in disbelief.
"I can't believe it." Someone said, "Pray —even if you haven't prayed in a long time. Just pray ."
Kathy locked the door to the library. Only teachers went in and out. When the first building crashed down—our audible inflow of breath followed by short outbursts of words ricocheted across the room.
"Oh my God." "Is this really happening?"
Then a quiet descended— a shroud of disbelief and sadness filled all the spaces.
**************** I've watched a number of shows this week—I've cried listening to the stories—of families—of survivors.
The numbers of those affected is numbing.
And I am overwhelmed by the stories of ordinary people who became heroes—who extended hands, words, grit, their lives to save others.
Thinking back to that day in the library— "Pray—even if you haven't prayed in a long time. Pray.
Our principal quickly disabled all the televisions save the one in the library. The parents who called made it clear—they wanted to be the ones to speak to their children. The decision was made—don't notify the camp and don't alert the children in the school. No cell phones or electronic devices were allowed in camp. The only way to get hold of someone was to use the camp phone.
Kathy turned on the overhead monitor and teachers in the room pulled the blue leather chairs close up. I recall sitting next to Gail, the school psychologist. We watched—shocked, in disbelief.
"I can't believe it." Someone said, "Pray —even if you haven't prayed in a long time. Just pray ."
Kathy locked the door to the library. Only teachers went in and out. When the first building crashed down—our audible inflow of breath followed by short outbursts of words ricocheted across the room.
"Oh my God." "Is this really happening?"
Then a quiet descended— a shroud of disbelief and sadness filled all the spaces.
The numbers of those affected is numbing.
And I am overwhelmed by the stories of ordinary people who became heroes—who extended hands, words, grit, their lives to save others.
Thinking back to that day in the library— "Pray—even if you haven't prayed in a long time. Pray.
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