It was about 9AM, Central. My first period class, Digital Photography, was wrapping up. It was held in the Upper School computer lab, a fairly popular spot during breaks. Nearly everyone in the class had left when I heard whisperings around the lab. “Passenger planes” and “World Trade Center”. I went to CNN’s website and goggled uncomprehendingly at the horrific headline, but when I clicked on it, CNN’s server had crashed. I kept pressing “reload” every few seconds, and finally the front page was replaced with a basic, no-graphics interface that would withstand the strain of hundreds of millions of people all frantically trying to understand what had happened.
A voice on the loudspeaker told us to go to our homerooms and called the advisors to a meeting. United with my friends, we shared worries over friends and family that lived in New York, and I started crying when I remembered that it was my Aunt Nancy’s first day as a delegate at the United Nations, and what if there was a fifth plane, like all the people on TV and the radio and the news websites were suggesting, and what if the UN was their target?
Dr. Magee, the Upper School Headmistress, called us to a meeting. The Middle School would take the auditorium after us. I don’t know what they told the Lower School, if anything. She told us what we already knew, and then she said that school would continue as scheduled, but students would not be penalized if they felt they needed to be at home. After she spoke, the presidents of various clubs stood up and stated that they wouldn’t be meeting that day. After four or five of these announcements, Caroline stood up a bit sheepishly and said that the JETS meeting was still on, for anyone that wanted to be there.
My next class was Multimedia Engineering. No one felt like learning anything, so we helped Mr. Taylor and Mr. Loh reassemble the junked TV and built an antenna for it. The phosphors in the screen were all messed up from demonstrations involving magnets, and the reception was awful, but we managed to get CBS with a minimum of snow. We watched the same footage and the same stunned news anchors saying the same thing over and over for the full hour and a half.
I don’t really remember what the afternoon was like. I remember that when I got home, I remained glued to the TV for hours, until I finally got fed up with the anchors’ lack of anything new to say.
It was surreal. Everything was so distant. The day was sunny in Dallas. No noxious clouds of smoke and dust hovered over our landscape. After I confirmed that Nancy and Becca and Aunt Phyllis were safe, I was at a loss to think of anyone I knew personally that could have been in the way of the attacks. All the camp friends and online friends I could think of that lived in New York didn’t live in the city, and I couldn’t think of anyone I knew in Washington. So who were all these people that were dead and dying and mourning their loved ones and struggling to reconnect with family and friends? Who were the near-misses that deviated slightly from their everyday routine that morning, which ended up saving their lives? Who were the people that watched the towers fall in person, when I just saw it on TV?
I don’t really know what else to say. My account seems trifling and insignificant compared to the recollections of the people that were actually there. And tomorrow, I will return to my regular brand of criticism and mockery of the administration and other stupid people in power, but I will never forget to give thanks that I live in a country that allows such criticism. I live in a country with such extraordinary freedoms that we can actually find ourselves taking them for granted. I can write in my weblog that Senator So-And-So is a moron and not be shut down or arrested by the secret police. I can plaster my door with liberal slogans without fear of attracting the wrong attention. I can attend a rally for Dean or Kerry as easily as I can attend a shindig. I can go outside wearing whatever I want and not be expected to follow a rigid dress code. I have the ability to practice any religion that speaks to me, or practice no religion at all. I can attend University and learn freely, unencumbered by censorship of information. I can join the work force, unconfined to the home. And in the film industry, I will retain that freedom to express an opinion, political or otherwise.
We have so much freedom, woven into the very fabric of our country and our being. We may complain about not being able to carry liquids on to flights, but it’s trifling compared to what we can do. And they can’t take that away from us.
Everyone’s Gods–be they Yahweh, Allah, Buddha, Vishnu, or an Outmoded Belief System on a Crutch–Bless America.
