When the teacher rolled the traveling television into our room,
that's when we knew
the news wasn't ordinary:
instead, the sort that made parents hold
your hands extra tightly
when you got off the school bus
that afternoon,
cuddle you closer when they tucked you in at night,
and listen more deeply when you spoke--
the kind of tragedy that reminds even a middle schooler
that our time is a handful of sand in an hourglass, a lightning streak-- there,
and gone--
a candle on a windy night,
the sharp breeze before a storm.
On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was sitting in middle school computer class, sandwiched between two of my friends and practicing my keyboarding skills on Type to Learn. It seemed like an ordinary morning, but a quick movement caught my eye.
Our computer room had glass windows on two sides of the room, facing a major corridor of our school. I saw a teacher pop out of her classroom, look around with a concerned expression, and then race towards our classroom. She pulled the computer teacher, who was working on something at her desk, towards her, and they started a frantic, whispered conversation. Ordinarily, I would have tuned this out, trying to win the high score on my typing journey, but our teachers were usually more even-keeled. What was going on?
Before I knew it, another teacher was pushing one of those televisions on wheels into the computer room. And we were watching– well, I didn’t initially realize what we were watching: news, and a tall, flaming building in New York City. Somebody had crashed into a skyscraper with an airplane. “That’s awful,” I thought, exchanging looks with my friends. But we didn’t know anybody in New York, or really, outside of the Midwest, so we weren’t really sure what to think.
When the second plane hit, our entire class was watching live, drawn by the gasps from the teachers who saw it first appear on the screen. The atmosphere changed in the way you feel when a rollercoaster reaches the bottom of its first crazy drop, and your stomach feels like it’s been left behind. Most of us kids had completely abandoned Type to Learn, watching as our teachers cried and rushed off to make calls. The bell rang for us to change classes, but nobody moved quickly. We moved like we were in shock.
That is my most clear memory of 9/11. For several years now, I’ve realized that most of my students weren’t alive during that fateful day. This year, on the 25th anniversary, my son is now in 7th grade. It’s bizarre for me to imagine that I was his age on that day. To think about how I processed tragedy then, and now, and how similar and different middle schoolers process trauma today.
A week ago, one of my son’s classmates passed away. I received a message in the school’s Parent Portal letting us know the student’s name and that counseling would be available for students. As I learned more about the situation in the ensuing days, I couldn’t help but put myself in my son’s shoes. Losing someone you may not have known well but still knew, someone your own age when there is so much more to live for. It’s always hard to navigate death and tragedy, but we try and hope that something we do or say cuts through and offers comfort and connection.
Maybe it gets easier over time. Maybe we simply adapt better; we have more experience; we’re no longer strangers to death but acquaintances. We’ve learned the rollercoaster almost always carries on after that initial, harrowing drop.
Words and Coffee Writing 
I was at work and we all gathered to watch the TV in the conference room. We couldn’t believe what we saw. The sadness was overwhelming once the shock wore off. Then to have to go home and comfort my sons who were also in middle school….
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Your memory of 9/11 is much like my memory of the JFK assassination. I was in 6th grade. But I’m sure that event had no real significance to you growing up. How quickly things become history–less than a generation sometimes.
I had a classmate die of leukemia in elementary school. It’s hard to process at that age. But, as you say, we become more and more acquainted with it as we grow older. (K)
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Thanks for sharing 🫂
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