Today is 9/11. The day, ten years ago, I left my second grade classroom in a confused haze as to why my big, strong teachers held fear in their eyes. It was the day that meant my cousin would be heading to Iraq in a short period of time and would eventually be hit by a road-side bomb (he survived, but to be ten or eleven years old and hear that your cousin was hit by a scary bomb is not something that just fades to the back of your mind).
The confusion of the country -- or maybe just my internal conflict -- is how much are we to "never forget". I was listening to NPR the other day with my grandma, and the report was about a few families who had lost loved ones that day that want to forget, and they isolate themselves on this day in order to escape the remembrance of that heartbreaking time. It was kind of humbling. Only a week before hearing this report, I was in a bit of a debate with my grandma and mom about how people are arguing that 9/11 should be a national holiday. I'm not sure it should go that far, but the argument my grandma and mom were posing was that, "We don't have a national holiday for Pearl Harbor or others who have served in the military and lost their lives, why should we have one for 9/11?" My refute was the fact that those who serve in the military are serving willingly and are ready to give up their lives for the country's freedom; those who died on 9/11 died in innocence, without that willingness to completely give up their lives. It was sort of strange how impassioned I was about the whole thing. The fact that some people don't think that day was important brings me back to that scared seven year old that would hide under the covers every time she heard a plane, for about a year.
I have chosen to remember that day not with loud exclamations of "never forget" and "rest in peace". Instead, I wore my red and black dress that everyone else doesn't really know I wore for commemorance. I'm not going to repost Facebook statuses, but I'm going to "never forget" by myself and pray for those who want to forget. That's what I've chosen to do. You are free to remember or not in whichever way you please, reader, but that's what I'm going to do.
The confusion of the country -- or maybe just my internal conflict -- is how much are we to "never forget". I was listening to NPR the other day with my grandma, and the report was about a few families who had lost loved ones that day that want to forget, and they isolate themselves on this day in order to escape the remembrance of that heartbreaking time. It was kind of humbling. Only a week before hearing this report, I was in a bit of a debate with my grandma and mom about how people are arguing that 9/11 should be a national holiday. I'm not sure it should go that far, but the argument my grandma and mom were posing was that, "We don't have a national holiday for Pearl Harbor or others who have served in the military and lost their lives, why should we have one for 9/11?" My refute was the fact that those who serve in the military are serving willingly and are ready to give up their lives for the country's freedom; those who died on 9/11 died in innocence, without that willingness to completely give up their lives. It was sort of strange how impassioned I was about the whole thing. The fact that some people don't think that day was important brings me back to that scared seven year old that would hide under the covers every time she heard a plane, for about a year.
I have chosen to remember that day not with loud exclamations of "never forget" and "rest in peace". Instead, I wore my red and black dress that everyone else doesn't really know I wore for commemorance. I'm not going to repost Facebook statuses, but I'm going to "never forget" by myself and pray for those who want to forget. That's what I've chosen to do. You are free to remember or not in whichever way you please, reader, but that's what I'm going to do.
