Where were you?

         “Where were you?”

That seems to be the question of the day.

And yet, no one misinterprets it — not today. No one takes it as “where were you before you came here?” or asks “where was I when?”

Today everyone understands the question.

“Where were you?”

“Where were you when you found out?”

“Where were you on September 11, 2001?”

Yep, today was all about remembering.

Not that that’s a bad thing. We need to remember and analyze and feel. Really feel. Because on that day, we felt something. Because on that day, we felt many things.

So where was I?

It was a Tuesday, just like this year. I was working for Head Start as a Home Visitor. I visited with a family in Kratzerville, Snyder County, PA — mother, daughter, two foster sons. It was a fun and maybe somewhat chaotic visit. Two adults, three preschool kids, how could it be anything but? The visit ended and I got in my car to drive to my office.

I’m not sure what was on my mind, but it took me a while to zero in on what was happening. I had the radio on, but I drove for a while before it registered that there was no music playing. I focused on what was being said and heard, “There it goes. It’s falling. The World Trade Center is no more.”

My thought? “I didn’t know there was a demolition planned.”

I drove for another mile or two before I sorted out the information that I was hearing. I drove the remaining miles to my office in a state of numbness.

Was I directly involved? No. Did I know anyone who was directly involved? No. Did that make a difference? No. It happened, I felt it. Or rather, I first felt the numbness.

Then I felt the sadness and the fear.

Then I looked at a map and realized that Flight 93’s crash site appeared to be far too close to Indiana, PA where my daughter was attending college. That’s when I got angry.

I’m not sure what point I’m trying to make or whether I’m making any point at all. It was far worse for those who were in New York City or Washington, DC or Shanksville, PA because that was where the actual action was taking place. But that didn’t keep the rest of us from feeling, from going through a range of emotions.

The following Sunday we sang patriotic songs in church. Of course. Suddenly the words to the fourth verse of America the Beautiful took on a new meaning:

             O beautiful for patriot dream
             That sees beyond the years
             Thine alabaster cities gleam
             Undimmed by human tears!
             America! America!
             God shed his grace on thee
             And crown thy good with brotherhood
             From sea to shining sea!

I guess it’s that “alabaster cities” portion of it that gets to me. And they definitely were dimmed by human tears. I suppose in a way everyone — or just about everyone — discovered some new bit of patriotism.

A few years later I went to New York City, the first time I’d ever been there. We went with some folks from my church, one of those “sign on to ride the bus, do your own thing for eight hours, then get back to the bus on time or we leave without you” things. My friend Donna and I weren’t there for the shopping: we just wanted to see some of the city. Of course, that meant we had to figure out the bus system and all of that, especially since we wanted to visit Ground Zero.

Wow. They had removed some of the debris at that time, but not all of it. And it was a few days short of September 11th of that particular year (2006?) and there were people speaking. We listened to them a bit, but moved on.

Instead, we checked out the artwork. It was kids’ drawings, pieced together into quilts, showing their memories of 9-11-2001. I’ve googled to find out more about that display, since I don’t remember everything about it, but came up empty. The photos in this entry are ones that I took that day, and they’re only a fraction of what was displayed.

It made me wonder: how will that memory, that memory of that day, shape those kids? I grew up with memories of air raids and President Kennedy being shot. I grew up with fears and sadness and anger shaped by those events. This generation of children, the ones who were young when this happened, will grow up with emotions shaped by an event that killed so many more, that was so much more tangible. How will that mold their thoughts and emotions in years to come?