So, I know there've been, like, a-hundred-million posts, feeds, status-updates, pintrest pins, etc about 9/11/01 today, but here's another.
This is the story of my generation. This is the story of those of us who didn't know what was going on because people thought we were too young to hear the horrible truth.
I was nine. I was in the fourth grade, Mrs. Shelton's class. She'd read a book to us that day. I don't remember the book. I remember someone telling us that we weren't to listen to the other kids on the bus when they said things about what had been going on, not that I knew or cared what was being said. No one talked to me anyway.
I didn't even get to know what had happened until I got home. And even then, it didn't hit me right away. Okay, so two skyscrapers got hit in New York City by airplanes flown by bad men. That was all I knew for a little while. I didn't know about the Pentagon or the other flight (see, I don't know the number off hand and it's an injustice to the retelling of the story if I look it up right now) until the next day. And only then because my dad's aunt worked in the Pentagon.
I didn't know they were connected until a few weeks later. It didn't make any sense to me, and I wasn't directly affected since none of my family had been hurt. Because while those people who lost their lives that day were many in number, like many, many kids across the country, they weren't related to me, they had no affect on me.
To this day, sometimes I have a hard time remembering why we stop on 9/11 (well, okay, it's only difficult to remember if I don't stop on Facebook).
But isn't that a testament of where this country is going and will be going. We will have a huge generation gap, right between my peers and the peers of my older friends (who, mind, are only a few years older than myself) of people who don't realize that, yes, 9/11 did directly affect us. It affected the country as a whole. It affected the way we live, the way we work, the way we go about our daily duties, the way we vacation, the way we spend our time with others.
Or at least, it affected our parents, our aunts and uncles, our grandparents, those who had family directly involved. And therefore we, too, were affected. And very, very few of us actually recognize that.
Don't get me wrong, I understand the sacrifice made that day, eleven years ago. But I will never remember it the same as those who came before me, nor will I remember it the same as those who came after. Because they won't remember. They won't know what they were doing that day, because they didn't care. They were children. I was a child. When my teacher told us not to listen to the other kids' speculation on the bus, I didn't know what it was in reference to. What I get out of that warning now, eleven years later, is that we weren't meant to know what was going on. We were to stay children, because we were the last hope that generation had for our country making it out of the situation in tact.
I wonder if anyone but me sees the folly in that vain hope. Because not letting us know has hurt us all the more. When we come into power (a day one of my friends talks about with glowing pride, hoping for all the good changes that should come of it) we won't know what today meant, except that it was a day we weren't supposed to know about. So we don't. We won't. We'll forget, and what will that do to our country? Where will that leave us?
In a completely different world, just like what happened eleven years ago.
Because it changed the world.
Keep strong, my fellow Americans. Keep solidarity. Remember, always, what happened that day, even if you weren't directly affected -- that means you, young people -- because you were affected. We all were.
Until Next Time, Dear Readers