I sometimes forget that there are people who don’t understand what it was like to be a New Yorker on 9/11. This isn’t meant to diminish what these people felt or what that day means to those people, but being a New Yorker, I am easily insulted when people aren’t somber enough in the days prior to the anniversary. I understand that you may have other things going on and that day may have meant something to you prior to that terrible day, but you can’t expect everyone else to be chipper just because that date was/is special to you. Maybe this is a fault in me, but no matter what happens on future September 11th’s, that date is a dark day. What saddens me is that despite the fact that we claim we’ll “never forget” future generations will not place the same significance on the anniversary as those of us that lived through it. In 1941, December 7th was a “date that will live in infamy,” and even though every American knows what that day was, we don’t really observe it. We don’t go to school or work with little American flag pins on or wear black arm bands because most of us weren’t there for it, so it is removed from us, so maybe that is why some people don’t get what 9/11 is to a New Yorker (or to someone from the DC Metro Area–or even Boston where the planes originated). They weren’t really here for it. They didn’t know someone that they worried they would never see again because they worked in or near the Towers or at the Pentagon. Their friends or loved ones were not NYPD or FDNY, so they didn’t have to fight the fear that their hero wouldn’t come home. In a way, their lives didn’t change as irrevocably as someone who lived in New York’s life did. They didn’t have to look at the shell of a skyline every time they road the A Train or looked out of the art room’s windows. They didn’t have to pass the huge whole in the middle of Manhattan. They didn’t have to go back to work blocks away from Ground Zero in the days and weeks after the attack. They didn’t flinch every time a plane flew overhead, especially when it was the Concord, which was so loud that it sounded like a bomb going off. They didn’t fear that every plane crash was an act of terrorism. They didn’t suddenly have shelter drills in case a nuclear bomb was dropped on Manhattan.
Yes, the entire world changed after 9/11, but for New Yorkers it was personal. We all knew someone or knew someone who knew someone. I remember talking to some random girl in the hallway a few days after 9/11. She and her friends were at the Towers a couple of days before the attack. I remember my uncle coming home from Ground Zero, where he was helping with the clean up, tell us about finding a shoe with the foot still inside. I remember my aunt walking around in a fog for weeks after the attack because she was in the city when the Towers fell and witnessed the walking wounded. I remember my cousin telling me about how she had heard a loud rumbling while she was on the A train that she thought was a really big truck and that when she got off at her station, she found out that the rumbling was one of the Towers collapsing. I remember my mom signing me out from school, not knowing what to write on the paper. I remember hearing my name called and thinking that my aunt wasn’t coming home. I remember watching dozens of students run into the hallways when their names were called because their family members worked in the city. I remember the silence in the cafeteria at lunch and seeing people crying in the halls. I remember watching the white smoke looming over what had become of the New York skyline. I remember going to church and lighting candles. I remember the memorial that was held at my church, and watching my brother’s classmates stand up (of their own volition) while singing God Bless the USA. I remember going back to school, and avoiding every window that looked out over Jamaica Bay into the city so I wouldn’t have to see the spot where only days before the Towers stood. I remember closing my eyes as the train crossed the bridge into Broad Channel, so I wouldn’t think about seeing the Towers there that morning.
I also remember everyone rallying around New York in the weeks after. I remember the first time the Mets played at Shea Stadium after the attacks, and how it didn’t matter to any of the Braves fans that they had lost. I remember watching the Concert for New York, and seeing all of the British performers come out to support us. I remember looking at the sea of cops and fireman and their families. I remember watching them jam to The Who and cry to James Taylor. I remember watching all the television shows and seeing American flags everywhere. I remember watching the news each time they found someone alive under the rubble.
I remember … I remember … I remember.
I remember that in a heartbeat nothing was ever the same again.
