September 11th, 2001. It was a day that began like any other. I got out of bed, put on some clothes, ate breakfast, and kissed my mom before heading to the bus stop. My school day was like any other day. We did our morning work and had lunch and recess, and everything was normal...or so it seemed. I was in first grade. I was six. I was innocent. I was sheltered. I did not truly understand fear. I was carefree. Little did I know, when I got in the car, my world would be changed forever. My mom came and picked me up from school and I could tell something was not right, so I asked, "what's wrong, momma?" in that curiously concerned, but not completely worried (yet) voice many six year olds have. I was not prepared for what I was about to hear. My mom told me (with details appropriate for a six year old) that some evil man had taken over airplanes and crashed them into buildings and many people had died. She told me that America had been attacked. We also had not heard from a family friend who was working in the Pentagon at the time, so that added another level to my worry. I now knew that hijackers had killed the pilots before taking over the planes and that even the babies on the planes that crashed died. I was six. Before this took place, I had no idea babies could die. In my own little brain, I thought only old people and those with cancer could die. I had no concept of tragedy. I was six. No six year old should have to understand evil or tragedy, but many kids younger than me lost loved ones that day. I was one of the lucky ones. I did not lose anyone. Our family friend ended up being okay, so that was a big relief. I just lost some innocence, and the America I had known my entire life. I began to truly understand fear. Before, I just had the little kid fears, such as being afraid of the dark. Now, I knew, at the tender age of six, that true evil exists and people really do kill other people. I had never been afraid of flying because I had been on planes since I was a baby, and my daddy was a pilot for the Air Force. Now, I was terrified to fly, I even cried about going to Disney World the following March because we were going to fly on an airplane. I was so scared. I thought that some evil men would come and take over the plane I was on and crash that, too. My mom had to explain that increased security would prevent that from happening. I also worried about my dad because he flew airplanes. For over a year, airplanes were a very real fear for me, and it took a while for that fear to completely go away.
Looking back, I realize that 9/11 truly caused me to grow up. I became more aware of the events taking place in the world and who our friends were and who our enemies were. Since my dad was in the military at the time, he began having to work extremely long hours. That was the first time I truly understood and appreciated his service (and the service of so many others) to our country.
Although it still disgusts me to think that people from another country would come into the nation that I love and call home and try to destroy it, I believe 9/11 played a major role in shaping who I am and I could not be more proud to be an American. Tomorrow is the 13th anniversary of the tragedy that changed this country forever. Let us all take the time to think about the heroes, pray for the families that lost loved ones on that September day, and thank God that we are blessed enough to call ourselves Americans.
