Reflection

Yesterday marked the ten year anniversary of 9/11, and I have really taken the time to reflect on that event and the decade following it. My memories of that day are fuzzy, and I can't remember my exact reaction. I was eleven years old. It was beyond my understanding of the world that this could happen. In a series of days, I learned that there are people out there who hate, and do things like this. For my generation, we grew up alot in a matter of a day. But that was the extent, I was not developmentally capable of having an empathetic reaction. Last night I read the news stories on the commemorations, and they had a news clip that was from The 9-11. And so I watched what unfolded ten years ago, and it was like seeing it for the first time. There were images that I had never seen; I didn't see the actual collapse and people running out and down the streets as an eleven year old. I didn't see people covered in rubble emerging. And I think that was my parents protecting me, they wanted me exposed to what happened, and understand. But they did not want their child seeing the full extent of suffering. They (or any other parent) could never prevent an attack like this, but I believe all parents did what they could to protect us emotionally that day. But what I did see was my country coming together- I did see the firefighters working endlessly, I saw President Bush continually giving support, I saw my school and community offer up support by wearing red, white, and blue, and sending cards to New York.
As the years have gone by, various aspects of my life have been directly affected by that day. My seventh grade dance recital's theme was "America": each dance level was a branch of the military (mine was Navy) and I remember all of the dances and our songs had an American theme, many of the songs were written as a tribute to 9-11. I visited NYC when I was 16, and my main memory of that is visiting Ground Zero, and the surrounding areas. The most striking is the church (I honestly do not know the name) about a block away that was entirely untouched, and was a shelter to the firefighters and others during the days after. The entire church is filled with cards, stuffed animals, blankets, and many other items that Americans sent to honor or help those affected. The pews are scuffed and scratched from the equipment of firefighters coming in to rest. Cots line one wall with blankets still on them that were sent from all over for the volunteers. Of everywhere I have ever visited, this is probably the most moving and influential, because of the reality of what happened there.
And then there was the day Osama was found and killed. I clearly remember the moment I learned what happened. One of my friends, who is extremely conservative, said on Facebook, "I have never been more proud to be an American" and he said something to the effect of applauding President Obama's speech. Immediately, I went to the news page and saw that Osama's face took over the entire page, and the headline was that he had been captured and killed. My thought: (and pardon the language, but this is one time that no other can explain the emotion) 'damn. we really got him.' It was something that I honestly thought would never happen. In the midst of being in France, I had never been more proud to be an American, and I wish that I had been home to see it unfold.
As fond as I am of some good Mexican food, French pastries and perfume, or Italian shoes and spaghetti; nothing will ever come close to the love and pride I feel every time I see Old Glory waving below a crisp blue sky, honoring those who have given their lives to protect the soil that flag looks over, and celebrating "the truths that we hold to be self evident of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness". And there is nothing, no terrorist attack, no stock market crash, economy, or political debate that will ever change the pride of our country. History and personal experience have taught me that yes, America does fall, but it gets back up even stronger than before.