I remember sitting in Mrs. Hemmelgarn's A block history class, and the phone ringing in the classroom, over and over until she finally answered it. It was Mrs. McKelvey, another history/government teacher in the building. She told Hemmelgarn that a plane had just hit one of the World Trade Center towers. We all were thinking, "What kind of idiot flies a plane into a building?"
But then Mrs. Hemmelgarn turned on the news. Another plane had just hit. We were all immediately glued to the television for the rest of the period.
The hallways were buzzing in between periods about the World Trade Center. I rushed to my B block class with Miss Richardson to ask her to turn on the TV so we could follow what was going on.
The one moment that I began to break down was when the Pentagon was hit by Flight 77.
Just starting high school, the entire freshman class had just returned from our 8th grade trip to Washington DC. We didn't stop at the Pentagon, but the memory of driving by the Pentagon and seeing the landmarks around it was fresh in my mind.
My C block class was gym with Mr. Oswalt, and we were not allowed near the TVs, but we went outside and played Bocci ball instead. None of us wanted to play, we wanted to know what was going on in our nation.
I remember walking outside and simply looking up. The most eerie moment of the day to me was walking out the door and simply looking up. There was not a plane in the sky, and being just north of Dayton and west of Columbus, we had two airports and an Air Force Base that constantly had planes passing over us. It was the clearest blue I've ever seen.
I was so mad that the teacher had decided to go outside that day. But I realize now it was a way to get us kids, because that's what we were no matter how much we fought the statement, away from the turmoil and sadness.
We weren't allowed to watch what was going on at lunch either, and by this point United Airlines Flight 93 had crashed in rural Pennsylvania. We wouldn't know about that until we got home that night.
My last class of the day was choir with Mr. Kildow. He refused to turn on the televisions as well, and all of the students in the class were getting frustrated because they knew they were being shut out from a huge moment of our country's history.
I got on the bus to go home and learned that my younger brother, who was in elementary school at the time, had not heard a word about what had happened. I had to attempt to explain the attack to my 9-year-old brother. He was confused on why anyone would do that. I think I was too.
I truly think that 9/11 inspired me to be a journalist. I'd always been a fan of writing, but started giving serious thought to the career when I saw Ashleigh Banfield's coverage that day. It made me realize that as a journalist, you really can make a difference, not just become a tabloid paparazzi.
Ten years later, I am a journalist now, and can't help but tear up at the coverage of that tragic day. At my alma mater's Patriot Day assembly on September 9th, I saw three of the four teachers I had on that day ten years ago. My gym teacher had retired a few years ago. But by an ironic twist of fate, I saw him that day as I was in the waiting room to get my hair done.
We all know now that America won't stand for something like that to happen again. We did lose our innocence that day, but we gained a sense of pride for our country.
May we all remember those who fell that day, the heroes that rushed in to help, and those lucky few who survived. September 11, 2001
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