When I came home from my new school that day, I remember my grandmother telling me I'd never forget where I was. And I never have.
I'll never forget when a usually-stoic teacher knocked on our classroom door with blotches of red on her face and tears stinging her eyes. I'll never forget the pastor's general self-assuredness cracking with his voice. I'll never forget our confusion and our fear for a girl I knew whose father was working in the Sears Tower that day – what if Chicago was next? I'll never forget my math teacher deciding that trying to teach that day was pointless. He turned on the radio instead, from which echoed the voices of morning DJ's we'd only ever heard cracking jokes, suddenly full of raw emotion. I'll never forget finally seeing the footage when I got home and the reflections of pain and fury in familiar newscasters' eyes.
It was easy to get swept up in retaliation and hate that day and the days following, just as it was easy to lose our renewed patriotism in the months after the attacks. Even as I write this, I feel those emotions ebbing back through the years and flooding over me again.
The events of that day were horrifying and shook us to the very core of our humanity. People have said that they woke us up to our own mortality.
There are more important things on which I try to focus when I start to feel those 9/11 racing heartbeats, though.
I think about the earnest prayers so many prayed that day and the good vibes we sent to one another. I remember watching victims' families break down on TV, speaking of bravery and love that transcends life itself. I remember the church services which were shown on the news, filled with people who hadn't been in church in years – and the one I attended. I dwell in the possibility that our lives were, somehow, changed for the better.
Do you remember how many American flags were brought out of attics and boxes in those days?
Thirteen years later, I have now lived over half my life in post-9/11 America, where the twin towers fell, the Pentagon was compromised, and a plane crashed in a Pennsylvania field.
Hate erupted in violent ways and changed our American lives thirteen years ago. It's incredibly important to remember our brave citizens, those who gave and give their lives.
But it is equally important, I think, that we address the root of the issue. It is easy to stereotype those who are different from us. What if we examine our similarities instead? It is difficult to hate someone you feel is your equal, whose life parallels yours, and who you see as your comrade. To reach this point is a daily exercise, but it's one on which our country was founded – with the belief that all men are created equal. To reach this point, we must look on the positive side and remember the good things.
Seeing the bright side can be difficult, but we have lights to turn on, people to help us, and we, as a community, have each other.
So, you see, although today we're probably all reviewing the footage from that day and remembering how terribly we felt in the wake of the attacks and so many lives lost, life has gone on. A lot has changed, but much of it is good. We have been given the opportunity to learn more, to do more, to feel more, and to bond together.
No, we ought not to forget 9/11, but let's forget the hate and honor the profound loss of that day by fixing the problem where it starts. That place isn't on a plane or in a secret meeting, but within our own hearts.