I was driving to school this morning listening to the radio. I knew the date, but it hadn’t really sunk in until I heard the DJ say these words: “Today is one of those days when you just know where you were.” She’s right. I was five, but I still remember.
I remember this day mainly because of how scared and sad all of my teachers looked. I was in class at my kindergarten. Someone came in while we were working and walked up to my teacher at her desk. I watched as she bent down and whispered something in her ear. I vaguely remember seeing her gasp. She took us out of our room and to the lunch room. We were told to wait outside with a hall monitor. A few of the more adventurous of us, including me, crept to the doors and peeked inside.
I didn’t really understand what I was seeing at the time, but now it makes sense. Most of the teachers and staff of the small kindergarten were inside. They were all gathered around a little television set in the far corner of the room. A few were standing and the rest had pulled up chairs. I didn’t know what was on the screen, but I knew how it made the teachers feel. Sad. They spent most of the time I was watching looking back and forth between the television and each other with shocked and tear-soaked faces.
All of us kids were confused and scared by what we had seen, so we quickly backed away from the door. The hall monitor later took us to another room to play and get away from what was happening in the lunch room.
I don’t remember much after that, and it was a long time before I understood what had really gone on that day. For the rest of my life this will be a day that I will never forget.
I wanted to add a quick word to the survivors of the attacks and to those who lost friends and family: I promise you that you are not alone, and we will never, ever forget.