About this time of day 14 years ago, I sat at a desk in Mrs. Holt's 5th grade class. I believe we were working on some reading assignment. It was peaceful in there. Cold, like always, but quiet. A typical day in Mayes County.
But then something happened. One of my classmates came hustling down the hall. We could hear him running. We just assumed he was playing around. When he flung that classroom door open, all color drained from his face despite running across the elementary campus, we knew something wasn't right.
Just a few years early we had a gun threat come across our school. They locked us down in the middle of a lower elementary presentation. A class that held maybe 20 kids on a bad day, was packed wall to wall. Our entire grade was in that class room. The teachers did their very best to pretend like nothing was happening. But we all knew.
And the same was true for this day as well. We all knew what was about to come out of his mouth. My desk was in the front row, closest to the door. So I had a good view of what happened next.
Time stopped. Mrs. Holt stood up from her desk in slow motion. She grabbed her keys. The noise they made in her hand was louder than any deafening silence I have experienced since. She started towards the door. One step. Two. Three. And then the boy shouted "There's been some kind of bombing.".
The room shook with fear. She halted. He just stood there, in the doorway. The teacher staring him blankly in face. It felt like years passed before he explained what he had heard, and where he heard it.
And then, as if nothing happened, the day went back to normal. We continued learning. We ate lunch. We played in the grass during recess. But every adult or older child had worry behind their eyes. When I got home, I am certain my mother explained the day's events as best as she could. But a terrorist attack is not something my young mind could really grasp. Which is strange, for a person living in a state bombed by our own people.
Days and months passed. The radio blasted many amazing patriotic songs. We wore God Bless America shirts more often. The TV showed images of the rubble, of families ripped apart by grief, of workers in rescue and recovery efforts. And my mind still did not understand what 9/11 truly meant to our America.
Flash forward a hand full of years, I stood in an American cemetery, on foreign soil. And it hit me. I looked out over this beautiful resting place for so many who gave their lives to the cause during a World War, and I understood what had happened back home.
Our great nation was threatened. Innocent lives were lost in so many ways. Patriotism burned brightly in the hearts of our citizens. We went to war. We would forgive, maybe, but we would never forget the trespasses against our people.
Today, though it is somber, and the soul of each citizen heavy, it is a beautiful day. We are here in our great nation. We are free. And we will never forget.
