I rarely speak on the subject of September 11th, and that’s probably because I strongly dislike the “holiday” that it has become.
I, like most readers, was alive and sentient on the day of September 11, 2001. Living in New York at the time, I was astounded by just how many friends and peers of mine had family in the big City, only 8 hours from where I lived at the time.
September 11th is a painful memory to me. It is about fear, and worry, and sadness. Some of my friends could not get in touch with their loved ones for days. Those who had public service officials in the family – firefighters and the like – faced the tough decision, “Should I go and help? Or stay here and support my family? Be safe?”
It astounds me how… blatantly disrespectful most major news stations are. It was different, for me, before September 11th, seeing, say, footage of Kennedy’s assassination, or the end of a war. Those were not personal. And this, honestly, September 11th is personal to me. Did I lose anyone? No. Does it matter? No.
I don’t want to see the towers fall ever again. When I first saw the footage, I had come in late to a class. And you know what? For a blissful 40 minutes, until class let out and my friends started talking, I thought it was a movie. I thought it was fake. And I left that class for lunch, scared and confused like everyone else.
And I remember how, after the fact, our freedoms were taken away. Not by terrorists, but by our own government. I flew, shortly after, and was witness to military personnel in my home-airport, sporting M16s and staring everyone down warily. I remember how, suddenly, the library where I worked was required to report lending activities to the US Government.
September 11th is not a day for media. It is a day for memorial.