I was at my son’s grade school, volunteering in the Media Center on September 11, 2011.
The school secretary came down and asked us to turn off the school news TV channel for all the classrooms.
We did and asked why.
She explained that the World Trade Center had been hit.
Shock.
Panic.
Was the United States under attack?
All morning, teachers wandered into the Media Center (we had the only TVs on in the school) to watch the news in disbelief and see the twin towers crumble to the ground.
We watched as people frantically ran in the streets of New York City and saw news of the Pentagon and Pennsylvania attacks.
The school went on lockdown.
Doors were locked. Students stayed inside, no recess that day.
News of the attacks wasn’t shared with the students until the end of the day.
Phone calls from frantic parents asking about their children inundated the school office.
Parents showed up at the front door of the school, asking to take their children out of school.
I watched as IDs were checked at the front door against student records, students were called down to the office, and quickly left with their parents.
I managed a quick call to my husband, are you okay?
He assured me he was fine, worried about us. I told him I was staying at the school for the day.
Throughout the day I stopped to say prayers for the people in New York City, the Pentagon, and Pennsylvania.
I could not imagine the desperation they felt, nor the horror and fear of their families.
“Mom, why did so many kids leave school early today?”
my son asked me when I met him at his classroom door at the end of the day.
It was a slow walk home.
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