Kestrel tagged me to participate in a “Where Were You…” meme that’s currently making the rounds. Never one to pass on a dare, so to speak, I was happy to oblige.
September 11 Attacks
September 11, 2001: Of the events on the list, this is quite easily the one I remember most vividly. In fact, I recall remarking to my mother just last week, as she sat watching a documentary on the event, that the September 11 attacks would go down in our history much like the Kennedy Assassination: those who bore witness to the tragedy would never be able to wipe from the slate of their minds the memory of where they were, what they were doing, and what they felt on that horrible day. This one day in history has had a dramatic and life-altering effect on the American people; not only as individuals, but also as a nation, and the ramifications of those tragic events are felt around the world to this day. I digress.
On the morning of Tuesday, September 11, 2001, I was sitting in my first-period class (which actually lasted three periods: 75% of my day) at the regional Vocational center (that happened to be housed in the high school I attended): Computer Programming. The Networking class next door happened to have a TV in it, which they turned on every morning to watch the news as they began their day. The connecting door between the two classrooms was often open (as the two classes worked together frequently), and students filtered between the two rooms.
I was standing at my computer station, unpacking my notebooks from my bag and waiting for my machine to boot as I prepared to get to work on the day’s assignments. One of the students from the Networking class ran in through the door with a look of horror on his face, calling us all into the Networking room saying only, “You need to come see this!”
With trepidation, curiosity and a distinct sense of foreboding, we filed into the room quietly and took up positions around their stations, eyes fixed to the television as we were presented with an image of the World Trade Center towers standing like lone sentinels against the glare of the early morning sunlight in the New York City skyline; one smoking from a large, gaping hole.
“What the hell happened?!” many asked in hushed and horrified whispers. No one answered. Many just shook their heads as we continued to watch the tragedy unfold. Speechless. Dumbfounded.
We stood there most of the morning, just watching, some crying. The voices of the newscasters quickly faded into indistinct murmurs, background noise, as we watched human beings, individuals with family and friends and lives just like mine and yours, jumping from high-rise buildings. Jumping for their lives, and plummeting to their deaths. We watched as the second plane went crashing into the second tower, the live feed still streaming from the first attack as we all tried to make sense of what we were seeing.
Eyes wide, mouths agape, we watched as fire billowed from the second tower. No one could make any sense of what they were seeing. No one tried. All we could do was stand there, watching helplessly as strangers, countrymen, were murdered en masse. Whether we knew the victims or not, our country wept as one.
Seven years later, I still weep. I weep thinking about the senseless loss of life. I don’t care about the politics involved. I care about the families that were torn apart, and the scar on this nation’s heart that has yet to heal. I weep as I recall how the rest of that day was spent, watching the news as firemen and police pulled bodies from the rubble, watching as people risked their lives to try to save others from the destruction, watching flags in suburban yards lowered to half-mast in remembrance and honor of those that gave their lives on that day.
Oh yes, I remember where I was on September 11th.
Space Shuttle Challenger Disaster
January 28, 1986: I was 2, and likely too busy chewing on my own toes to quite understand what was going on, sorry.
Hurricane Katrina
August 29, 2005: I was at work when I first heard about this. At the time, I was a little too wrapped up in my own self-involved feelings to be very aware of what was going on in the rest of the world. Which is to say, I didn’t watch or listen to the news, ever. I was going through my divorce at the time, and when I wasn’t sleeping, I was working. Not a good excuse, but the truth. Again, I digress.
Anyway, I was working at Best Buy, as the only full-time employee in the Digital Imaging department. As such, I was working the 9-5(ish) shift and was there that morning when the store opened. I had just finished helping a customer pick out a new camera and some accessories and was walking with them up to the check-out counter. I double-checked with the customer to make sure they were happy with their purchase and that they had everything they would need and had just turned to go back to my department when I noticed something…. odd.
There was a large jar positioned on one of the front counters, with a colorful sign attached to it: Hurricane Katrina Relief Fund!
Confused, I looked around, news footage on one of the televisions positioned above the check-outs that normally display store advertisements catching my eye.
I stood for a few moments, watching the news. Watching as the camera panned over the destruction, the crying children, the looters.
I have to admit, Hurricane Katrina is not what left a permanent impression on me. The aftermath did, though. Even now, New Orleans struggles to rebuild amidst claims from “experts”, meteorologists, that they saw it coming, and could have prevented it. I recall the reports spelling out the doom of New Orleans: the levies were built to withstand Category 3 hurricanes… not Category 5, like Katrina; New Orleans was structured like a bowl, the perfect architecture for a massacre of this nature; lives lost from careless mistakes; horrible conditions for those trapped within the city, death and disease after the wind had died down and the waters receded.
Reagan Assassination Attempt
March 30, 1981: Prepare to feel old, some of you. I wasn’t born yet. 
John Lennon’s Death
December 8, 1980: Same as above.
Kurt Cobain’s Death
April 5, 1994: I remember this only vaguely. I was in, I think, 4th grade at the time. My older brother was into his “I watch MTV constantly” phase. He was big into grunge rock, particularly the Seattle scene. I remember coming home from school to find my brother sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the tv. Not so unusual at the time, except the look on his face told the real story.
As many younger siblings do, I often “borrowed” his tapes and CDs. I was familiar with Nirvana, though not the gossip surrounding the band and their… friends. There in the living room, I felt the same feeling of general loss and sorrow I always feel when I hear about someone’s passing. The feeling was colored by an unusual mix of disappointment and anger, though. That was the day I learned about suicide.
John F. Kennedy’s Assassination
November 22, 1963: Of course, I wasn’t alive for this, not by a long shot. Though I do recall my parents talking about it frequently as I grew up.
My mother, a notorious “history buff”, finds this story particularly interesting. Perhaps because she witnessed it and feels akin to how I felt on the day of September 11th, or perhaps because it’s as yet not entirely a “case closed” and she enjoys a bit of detective work. Maybe it’s a bit of both. Countless books on this event line the shelves in her room and in the basement.
I remember my father telling me about this day. I remember the sorrowful look in his eyes as his mind took him back through the years to recall the tragedy he had witnessed, seeing that fateful image of JFK Jr. (now also deceased) as a boy, saluting his father’s coffin as it passed in the streets, trying to be brave even though his father was dead and gone flash before his eyes. The Kennedy Curse, indeed. Who knows? Perhaps there is some truth to it. Or perhaps people just try to make sense of tragedy the best they can when there really is no sense to be made.
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In true meme tradition, I’m to pass this along. Have fun!
/sigh
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On Sept 11th, I was in AFJROTC “class” in the largest high school in the state that i lived in at the time. That day we were in our uniforms, about to have promotions, and a flag ceremony for the school, when my Commander recieved a call, we watched his face drain of all color, and have to steady himself against his desk. He hung up the phone ran into the room, grabbed the TV remote, and locked the door to the class room. BEfore he turned it on, he looked at us and told us what was happening, and that as of that moment we were under lock down until our parents could come get us. He turned on the television, and we all watched horrified, we were outraged, and most where ready to take whatever measures neccessary to avenge the people that had died, and some just sat and cried… For the next month after that we were forbidden to speak of ROTC outside that room and couldn’t wear our uniforms for another 2 months after. Why were we treated with such concern? I’m not entirely sure, all I know is what I was told, and that wasn’t much…
On the day of the Columbia’s loss, now this one is the one that reall affects me. That day I was at an Air Force base for a AFJROTC Color Guard Competition, basically we had to do a march routine, with proper military discipline, and at the end of it raise, lower, then raise the Flag to half-mast and leave it there for a few seconds, well from everything I have heard and seen from that day, I had the flag just settling into half-mast as they lost contact with the shuttle… THAT is a day that will haunt me forever, not only because of the cirsumstances, but because when we walked into the mess hall after the comp, the look on all the Air Force personnels faces… it was a look of absolute sorrow…
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we cannot expect what will happen on the next day. but what we can do is submit to fate.
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Oh lol figured i should explain y i put Columbia instead of Challenger, basically I wasnt born yet for Challenger, and so that doesn’t apply to me, however Columbia is still very much a part of me.
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