My 9/11 Story

I was getting into my car to head to work that morning.  Just as I started it up, I heard on the radio that a second plane had crashed into something.  I didn’t know what, yet.  It was a short drive to work, and as soon as I got there I ran to my friend’s classroom to see if she knew.  She had the TV on in her room.  We stood in stunned silence and watched as each of the towers fell.
I was teaching math at a high school in Sacramento, CA.  Most classrooms sat in reverent silence or were glued to their TVs.  My students were numb.  Some were tearful, some were scared, some were angry.  Most were just in a state of disbelief and shock.
They had all kinds of questions about what this meant and why someone would do this. I did my bests to answer. I tried to explain what extremists were, and how they view the world differently than we do. I tried to explain it in as neutral a way as possible because I just wanted them to not be afraid and I didn’t want to influence them with inaccurate information.
One student looked at me with wide, innocent eyes, and said, “Ms. R——, can’t you talk to someone? You make so much sense.”
Her childlike faith that I, a simple teacher from a shabby little town in Northern California, could talk to someone and make it all better absolutely broke my heart wide open.
We were all afraid.  I was certainly afraid.  I had no idea what it all meant.  But this child – yes, teens are children – believed that we could fix the world if we could just have a rational conversation.
Dear God, may we someday be that world!