September 11, has come and gone this year, and for most of us it passes with some tears shed and listening to Alan Jackson’s “Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning”, or if the mood strikes you, one might listen to Toby Keith’s “Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue.” Little kids don’t understand why moms and even dads are crying. People flock to memorials and even ground zero, but then it’s over. But for the nearly three-thousand victims’ families this day never ends.

            I ask people during this time where they were twelve years ago. I don’t ask out of morbid curiosity, I ask because I feel that if we don’t tell these stories, we’ll forget. And the heroes and victims of that day do not deserve to be forgotten. Most people my age, don’t remember that day specifically, they were too young to remember. A friend who is a couple of years younger than I will always remember that day, her uncle was on the 107^th floor of one of the Towers. I’m very rarely asked where I was, but when I am asked I always tell it.

            I awoke that morning and decided that school wouldn’t be worth my time and decided to put my efforts into being sick and staying home. I couldn’t fake a fever, so during my shower I made plans to be really, really sick in the tummy. She knocked on the door a couple of times to make me move faster; it didn’t work. I did, however, get dressed fast so Mom could do my hair. I sat down in front of her and calmly started groaning about my tummy. She wasn’t having it. I continued through breakfast.

            I barely touched my food that morning, keeping in character of course. I just knew I’d have a big peanut-butter and jelly sandwich at Grandma’s while watching “Beauty and the Beast”. It would be perfect. Mom had the patience of a saint, but even being six years old I could tell her patience was wearing thin. I fought her at every turn; I really, really didn’t want to go to school that day.

            Around the 7:30 mark, her patience was nearly gone. I could tell what was coming, that ultimate punishment, that thing so degrading to a kid…a spanking. I could tell exactly when she boiled over. I felt a cold sweat trickle down my back. In my infinite 1^st grade logic, I ran, I pumped my chubby legs as fast as I could… straight to my mom’s closet. Why I ran there, I’ll never know. Thinking on it now it was the worst spot to hide.

            I hid there for what felt like forever. Time slowed down it seemed, I waited for the inevitable spanking that would surely ensue.

            I sat waiting in the closet and the door was partially open, to make sure I could hear her coming. I heard her come in and sat there cringing in the fetal position. Another eternity seemed to pass me by; she never came in. I was too scared to move, I didn’t want to get punished, even though I knew I probably deserved it. Why wasn’t she coming in? Was this some new way to get me? A sneak spanking?

            Cautiously, I peered my head around the corner. Mom was slumped on the bed, her back curled forward, with the phone to her ear. I vaguely remembered the phone ringing as I had ran for the life of my butt. I silently walked to the bed and sat down beside her. By now she had turned on the TV. I knew something was wrong right then; Mom never had the TV on just before we left. She turned it off when we had breakfast.

            As usual, she had it on NBC with the Today Show. Except today instead of a big, funny black guy talking about the weather I saw the skyline of New York, but it didn’t even look right. The tallest buildings were covered in black smoke. Across the bottom of the screen the headline showed “Plane Crash at World Trade Center, New York”. I thought that was sad, but didn’t think much else of it.

            We continued watching and that’s when we saw the second plane hit. By now I was snuggling in Mom’s protective arms. I felt something wet hit my cheek, Mom was crying while her jaw hung open. Mom had never cried like this in front of me, never. She stood me on the ground and wiped away her own tears, and told me I needed a normal day at school.

            I didn’t have a normal day. How could anyone? When we got to the school Mom told my teacher, Mr. Foster, about New York. Eventually the whole of the staff knew, and a handful of kids knew. A few classrooms, mine being one of them, had the news on. There was no learning that day; all we did was draw cards for the people in the Towers.

I drew mine with the smoke. I was usually the most bubbly of 1^st graders, not annoying, but I constantly brought a smile to people’s faces, I still do. But that day, I couldn’t find a single thing to smile about, the smoke somehow stuck out me. All I could think about was the smoke, blocking those people’s views. I couldn’t see past the smoke, and that made me sad.

After a while the teachers moved the TVs away from us kids. I didn’t see the Towers collapse.

Mom came up that day to see me for lunch. When I asked her what had happened, she just smiled and said she’d talk about it when I got home. The rest of the afternoon until I got home was a blur.

On the way home Mom told me that terrorists had hijacked planes and killed a lot of people. The towers we had seen that morning were gone, crumbled to the ground. She said that George W. Bush, our president, was in Nebraska.

Grandma’s house was normally the center of fun and love in the family; on that day color had left the walls and we sat around the TV, with tears running down our cheeks. On that day, my Grandma’s brown eyes, mine are her mirrors, were somber black orbs. That day we didn’t have a palpable pulse.

I was so angry. Now I’m angry at the terrorists for hurting my beloved country; back then I was angry at the terrorists for making Mom and Grandma cry. You didn’t hurt my family without getting hurt back. That wasn’t a very Christian attitude, but I was a first grader.

After everything I wanted to go to New York and help them. Mom told me no. The best way for us to help was to pray and maybe send a few dollars, but we couldn’t go to help. I just wanted to save everyone, or at least try.

Now September 11^th is imprinted on my mind and will be forever with me. I have done my humanly best to forgive the terrorists, but what they did, who they hurt, will never be forgotten.