I Will Not Forget

The internet certainly does not need another account of the events that happened 10 years ago today on September the 11th, 2001.  I did not know anyone who was killed or had a loved one killed or injured in the attacks, I have never lived in New York City, and had not yet lived in Virginia in 2001.  I had not seen the Pentagon since I was a little boy in 2001.  In short, I have no more personal connection to the events of 9/11 than the vast majority of Americans, and my story is not one of extraordinary courage or hardship or hope.

And yet, as I find myself ten long years and half a country away from where I was that fateful day, I find a need to talk (or blog in this case) about my feelings about those events.  One of the pastors at our church (Resurrection Evangelical Lutheran Church in Chesapeake, VA - go to www.builtonjesus.org to find out more) preached a sermon this morning that touched on 9/11 in the context of the Biblical texts concerning teaching the Word of God to children.  One of his points was that you tell your children Bible stories and stories about important events that occurred during your lifetime because they did not live through those events.  It is important to remember the past, because in recounting the past, they learn about what God has done for his people in the past and may glean lessons that help them to deal with their future

While I do not hold any conceits that my story will lead to any important lessons or meaning, I do know that an 18-year old boy away from home for the first time in his life made a promise ten years ago to never forget the events that happened that day.  It is 3652 days later (give or take), and I have not forgotten.

In September of 2001, I was in the first few weeks of my freshman year at the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis.  While I had not been quite as tied to home during my childhood as many, including my father, who had not been out of the state of Wisconsin until college, my freshman year was the first time I lived away from home in my life.  By the time Tuesday the 11th rolled around, I think that we were in the third week of the school year.  I had already gone through that crazy first week of college and the even crazier first weekend, and things were starting to get settled in.  My group of friends had started to solidify into the groups that are typical of college: roommates, friends from high school (and their dorm friends), friends from the dorm, and classmates.  Many of these friends from those first few weeks are still close friends of mine.  Some are those who I call once in a while and follow their lives through facebook.  Some I have not talked to in nearly 10 years. 

The Institute of Technology at U of MN (now the College of Science and Engineering) scheduled the science and math courses for incoming freshman in blocks before the semester to ensure students got into the required courses.  I had the misfortune of being scheduled into 8 AM Physics 1301 (Physics I for Uber-nerds) every day of the week in my first semester.  Though I would claim that I was generally a dutiful student in college, I will not discuss my attendance record for those 8 AM lectures.  On the bright, sunny morning of Sept. 11, however, I made the walk across a sleepy campus and got to class right on time.  Whether because I napped during lecture or just don't remember, I have no recollection of what we discussed in that lecture.  That is about the last memory that is the least bit fuzzy for me that day.

I returned to my dorm in Sanford Hall just before 9 AM CDT.  I was a little out of it, but was paying enough attention to overhear someone at the front desk say something about a plane hitting the World Trade Center in NY.  I took the elevator up to my room on the 9th floor pretty confused about the situation - like most, the actual extent of the attacks was just not fathomable to me, and I thought that perhaps some small private plane had crashed into the building somehow.  Two of my three roommates were still sleeping in the room when I came in.

I woke them up and turned the TV on literally just in time to watch live as the first tower collapsed.

While I could not have predicted exactly how things have changed in the intervening 10 years, I do remember thinking soon after that surreal moment when a tower of concrete and steel disintegrated into smoke and ash and dust that the world was never going to be the same.  That feeling was less an awareness of pending specific changes such as increased airport security, mistrust and outright racism and religious discrimination, and reduction of personal privacy; instead, it was a more personal sentiment.  I don't know of anyone who lived through that day and watched the towers smoke, buckle, and collapse or saw the gaping hole in the Pentagon or a crater in Pennsylvania who did not feel similarly.  Hyperbolic metaphors and overwrought poetic phrases are a dime a dozen to describe those events, but no one who watched in horror that morning could help but feel as if a part of themselves collapsed and smoldered in the ruins, even if that part was much smaller for many of us than those more directly affected.



I got back from Calc class and found out that the University had cancelled classes for the rest of the day.  This reinforced the seriousness of the situation, as U of MN always shrugged and held classes during the inevitable week or so every winter where -70 degree wind chills would make walking between buildings an act of courage.  I spent the rest of the day, like many others, basically staring at the television in disbelief as the images were played over and over.  I went and talked to friends and passed the time doing some other things as well, but the dominant memory of the rest of the day is sitting on the couch or my computer chair transfixed.  I even proved that I grew up during the 90's by making a mixtape CD of songs that affected me that day.  I still have the CD, but would have to put it on to remember what songs are on it, with one exception:  Stuck in a Moment (and You Can't Get Out of It) by U2.  The title of the song alone basically captured the essence of the day for someone like me that did not really live the horrors or worry about a loved one - it just felt like I was stuck in some surreal bad dream, and I kept waiting to wake up.

I recall all of the rumors that flew around the rest of the day about possible additional attacks, even a few hearsay rumors about buildings in downtown Minneapolis being at risk.  I don't think we as a public fully realized that this enemy did not choose targets for their industrial or military value, but for psychological damage potential.  Whenever I watch The Dark Knight, I think of 9/11 when Alfred utters the chilling line, "...some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn."

I called my parents and my sister, ostensibly to let them know I was alright, but probably more so because it seemed important to hear their voices and tell them that I loved them.  I called or chatted with several high school friends throughout the day, again just to assure ourselves that we were not experiencing our shock alone.  The urgency of remembering that which is truly important today, because tomorrow is never assured, is one thing of which Sept. 11, 2001 will always remind me.  It is one of many positive enduring images or feelings that I will always carry in my mind's eye, alongside with the image of black smoke boiling out of a ruined city and an impossibly large edifice melting away as if in slow-motion.

The American flag flying on the top of the rubble, ragged and torn like the conscious of so many Americans, but still "so gallantly streaming."  Hollow-eyed ghosts of firefighters and rescue workers covered in dust and smoke, many of whom probably had not eaten or rested in hours, grimly continuing to sift and dig and hope and pray for days afterwards, when hope was so difficult to cling to.  As a sports fan, I remember the empty stadiums in the midst of pennant races and the start of the NFL season, but I also recall the stirring images of the first games when sports and other aspects of life DID begin to return.  I think back on the stories told of the passengers of United 93 who would not allow others to become victims even though they could not escape becoming victims themselves.  In the days following the attacks, there was a palpable sense of unity and pride and togetherness that I had never experienced on such a wide scale before, and likely will never experience again.  These are the images that remain most clear in my mind when I think back on ten years ago. 

And that, I think, is why we must tell the stories of that day 10 years ago to our children and ourselves.  We cannot and should not forget the horrors of that day, nor ignore or neglect to mention the ugliness of the isolated hate crimes and widespread prejudice against Muslims and Arabs in the aftermath of the attacks.  To me, though, the primary reason to always kindle the memories of 9/11/01 is to remember the depths of human courage, compassion, hope, unity, love, empathy, perseverance and kindness brought out in the wake of the tragedy.  My prayer on this night is that we all strive to ensure that it does not take a future horror to bring those traits out of all of us again and again in our everyday lives.  Then we shall truly honor the memories of those lost that fateful day ten years ago, and we will never forget.