My current students were nine on September 11, 2001. So they have a different take on things. They didn't realize that cell phones stopped working. But then again, they didn't realize that you can't take toothpaste on a plane anymore. The things you learn when your stupid teacher makes you read Mitch Albom.
Being nine shelters you a bit. None of them have seen the big hole in the ground, with somber people milling around it. Most of them don't remember a time before. I had some admit that they didn't remember the day at all, let alone fourth grade. (I was in fourth grade? one asked) I was supposed to pretend it was like any other day . . . but it isn't like any other day, so I didn't. Meredith Whalen went to school with my brother and sister . . . she was one of the "other Merediths".
Five years ago, my father and brother were at the Frankfort auto show . . . and we wondered if and when they would be able to fly home. Twenty-five years ago, I would spend whole days with my father and brothers at the airport, watching people and planes. The airport was a place of wonder, not danger . . . something I cannot share with Z, or my potential children. When my brothers and sister each turned ten, there was a chance to fly solo to Florida to visit our grandparents. I can't imagine sending Z. solo to J. in Miami. But then again, I now have to buy shampoo at my destination.
I reminded my students how lucky we are to live in the United States. Even with our problems, we still have a very high standard of living. We can speak our minds without worry about disappearing in the night. There is food . . . and housing . . . and space . . .
I told the story of being in Paris, with the soldiers and their AK-47's, in the metro, on the street . . . at the airport. Most of them, the soldiers, not much older than our seniors . . . 18 or 19. There are no soldiers at the mall here. Not even in the subway in New York. Things are hidden here . . . or non-existent.
And five years from now . . . my students will have been 4.
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I have been fine all day--and yesterday too (even reading Mitch. I was starting to wonder if this whole 5- year thing wasn’t overkill… until I read this blog entry and got to the "other Meredith"…brought it all back in a flood. The uneasiness, the anger, the incomprehensible nature of the whole day, the incredibly blue sky, the "quiet", the waiting....for what??? The other shoe...for news that the "other Meredith" was really o.k. ...to wake up from a bad dream.
I mourned again the loss...the loss not only of “the other Meredith” (who we knew), but of so many unsuspecting people, the loss of innocence, the loss of our sense of security, the loss of the freedom of "not having to ponder" what could be the other shoe....
and that those who are now young adults--about to take on the world, can't remember!....
I remember practicing hiding under my desk in elementary school so we would be "safe" from the Communist bombs... ridiculous in retrospect, but at least we had a plan. My generation’s enemy was real. We knew what they looked like, where they were, and that they had THE bomb.
Your students will probably never be that lucky...
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