September 11

Ten years ago, I was five years old. I was old enough to know the events that were going on, but not old enough to know what was going on. A few specific things jump out at me from that day. Even though I was only in kindergarten, it was one of the days I do remember.

I sat down to watch the news that day. It was strange because the only time I ever remember watching the news as a kid was to see if it was pants-wearing weather or shorts-wearing weather. I remember my parents snapping at me to be quiet as they sat in front of the TV for a long, long time. I remember my dad trying to explain to me this awful thing that had happened, in a way that a five-year-old could understand. I remember seeing the second plane hit. It didn't mean much to me back then, as awful as it sounds to say.

I remember talking about it at school, but I'm not sure what my teacher told us. Probably that it was awful, like everyone else was telling me. I knew it was awful; that much was a given.

For a few years after, I didn't understand September eleventh. I knew the World Trade Center had fallen, and I knew that a terrible thing had happened, and I knew that 9/11 was an annual day of memorial for our country, but I didn't understand why. Why would anyone want to do that to anyone? I still don't and will not ever understand September eleventh. I'm not sure anyone ever will.

As humans we seek the answer to why. Why is the opposite of a clear cut answer, but that doesn't mean we should give up seeking one. While I have hardly a memory of that day, I do have my penny to drop in the bucket of experiences, in hopes that why will become less murky in the future.

I couldn't remember how old I was ten years ago. Just subtract a ten, Sam. Goodness gracious, you're awful at math.