My dad can tell anyone who asks him where he was hen he found out that Kennedy had been assassinated. He had been at school when the president had been shot, walked how from school with his brother (five mile in the snow, uphill both ways, I am sure) and they went to the stripping room to tell their parents, who hadn't heard the news as they had been working all day.
I had a similar experience the day the Twin Towers fell. I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing. I was in the sixth grade at Tollesboro Elementary School. I had just left English class and we were walking like a herd of cattle to science class. We had just taken our seats when Mr. Stanfield (who is a superhero, just so you know) turned on the TV. And there it was--the gray smoke billowing from all sides of the building. There was a hole where the hijacked plane had entered. The voices of the newscasters were frantic--they had no idea how to professionally describe what was happening.
My classmates and I watched in complete silence. Science class was often loud and chaotic--that's just the way Mr. Stanfield ran his classroom. But that day was different. Eighteen sets of eyes watched the TV with absolute respect and fear. And then we all watched together as the second Tower was hit.
My mind could not wrap around what was happening. I had been so sheltered--I didn't realize it at the time--but it's undeniable in hindsight. I could not process a terrorist attack. It was beyond my realm of understanding. In my little sixth grade mind, I thought that an airplane hijacked by terrorists was going to come and crash into my little five-room home on Happy Hollow Road. Because, of course, why would a terrorist target a place like The White House or Fort Knox when they could hit a farmer's house in God's nowhere. It's only logical.
Tiffany Bradford was hysterical too. When it came time to go to Math class, she and I chose to sit out in the hallway instead of watch the footage. I went home and news coverage from NYC was on every station, even channels like CMT and TNT. My parents only let me watch it for so long.
My dad can still tell you where he was and what he was doing when JFK was assassinated in 1963. In November, it will be fifty years. I know that in 2051, I will still be able to tell you where I was and what I was doing the day the world stopped turning.
I had a similar experience the day the Twin Towers fell. I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing. I was in the sixth grade at Tollesboro Elementary School. I had just left English class and we were walking like a herd of cattle to science class. We had just taken our seats when Mr. Stanfield (who is a superhero, just so you know) turned on the TV. And there it was--the gray smoke billowing from all sides of the building. There was a hole where the hijacked plane had entered. The voices of the newscasters were frantic--they had no idea how to professionally describe what was happening.
My classmates and I watched in complete silence. Science class was often loud and chaotic--that's just the way Mr. Stanfield ran his classroom. But that day was different. Eighteen sets of eyes watched the TV with absolute respect and fear. And then we all watched together as the second Tower was hit.
My mind could not wrap around what was happening. I had been so sheltered--I didn't realize it at the time--but it's undeniable in hindsight. I could not process a terrorist attack. It was beyond my realm of understanding. In my little sixth grade mind, I thought that an airplane hijacked by terrorists was going to come and crash into my little five-room home on Happy Hollow Road. Because, of course, why would a terrorist target a place like The White House or Fort Knox when they could hit a farmer's house in God's nowhere. It's only logical.
Tiffany Bradford was hysterical too. When it came time to go to Math class, she and I chose to sit out in the hallway instead of watch the footage. I went home and news coverage from NYC was on every station, even channels like CMT and TNT. My parents only let me watch it for so long.
My dad can still tell you where he was and what he was doing when JFK was assassinated in 1963. In November, it will be fifty years. I know that in 2051, I will still be able to tell you where I was and what I was doing the day the world stopped turning.