September 11th, 2001, that date may not mean anything to a lot of
you. Especially y'all from the other side of the world. But
that day for me was the first time I saw my father weep. My dad of
26 years old, a day before his birthday wept for the men, women and
children who were murdered on that day. I was only about four years
old at the time. I didn't fully understand what was going on,
all I knew was my dad was sitting on the couch crying as he watched
something on the TV. I remember the sadness that washed over me as
I watched my dad break down, as I too look to the TV to see smoke
and fire, people screaming and blood.
About a year ago I, for whatever reason, decided to watch the news
reports of 9/11, and to hear the calls being recorded on the planes
as they crashed into the world trade center. It was horrific. I
cried for hours, the ability to physically hear people screaming as
they die, even if it's only for a few minutes before everything
goes out, it still haunts you.
It saddens me because teenagers today have forgotten. Hell freshman
don't even fully understand the pain that people felt that day.
The freshmen in my Spanish class today ask if we're doing
anything special tomorrow. As if it was a holiday or something to
have school work lessened for. If they had witnessed their dads
broken down to miserable sobs they probably wouldn't be acting
like tomorrow is some special event. No tomorrow is a day of
remembrance, for the lost, for the scarred, for the broken loved
ones who can't give their beloveds hugs on Christmas or
Sure you could say it's also a check point for America, a
symbol of the day America changed...but what justice is that for
the dead? This is their day. Like Elijah day for my family, a day
of commutative mourning and comfort, a day to let the scars show, a
day to let them know. We. Will. NEVER. Forget.