I wasn't sure what I wanted to do when I went to college. I always said that I would be a teacher like my mom, but when it came to my college decision, I was swayed elsewhere. I knew that I loved music, but I didn't see myself as a very strong performer or that I would make any career out of it. I was told that I was a good writer and speaker, and therefore landed at Marist College in Poughkeepsie, NY as a communications major (RTF).
As I got to know people during my first weeks of school, it was clear to me that where I was from in New York state was considered "the boonies" and "where all those cows are" to a college full of kids from NYC and the surrounding suburbs on Long Island, Staten Island, in Connecticut and New Jersey. I had a good time explaining to my friend Charlie that the smell he was sniffing was a skunk, and no, it was not cute and he should not chase it around campus.
It was only the second full week of classes and I headed, probably in sweatpants, to my 9:15am voice class in the basement music wing that happened to be connected to my residence hall. I was a little early and it was very quiet, until I saw my professor, Dr. Laura, hurrying down the hallway.
"Hi Dr. Laura," I said, as she rushed past me into the office.
"Something's wrong!" She said, barely comprehensibly, to the student working in the office. She babbled on about a plane and NYC and something about her son traveling that I really couldn't understand. A few more students were coming down the hallway for class when she realized we were there and quickly said, "I'm sorry, class is cancelled."
And that was it. None of us were very sure what was going on, so most of us walked slowly back to our rooms. I headed up the elevator to the 8th floor of Champagnat Hall, where I was greeted by an eerie quiet, different from that of the norm - students trying to sleep in, maybe missing their first class of the morning. I walked down the hall past my floormates staring at TV's, some quietly crying, one screaming, and many waiting desperately for someone to answer on the other end of their cell phones. My RA was walking down the hall, unsure who to go to first, and deciding to go to the girl who was wailing, not knowing the whereabouts of her family members.
I turned on the small tv in my room and saw the smoke billowing out of the twin towers. They knew, at this point, that this was no accident. To be honest, before that moment, I never would've known what someone meant by "the Twin Towers" or even the World Trade Center. At that point, I had never even made a trip to New York City. As for the 18-year-olds I was surrounded by, though, almost every single one had a friend or family member that worked in or around those towers. I didn't call anyone, I didn't have a cell phone then and knew that both of my parents would be working, five hours away from any of this. It took news of the Pentagon and Flight 93 in PA for me to begin to worry about what was going to happen while I was so far from home. I still felt like I should not tie up any phone lines while others were making some futile attempts to reach their loved ones in or near the city.
Most students did not go to any other classes that day. Some did, and one professor took her class to the chapel on campus because they wanted to pray. She was reportedly
almost fired for this action. Students walked around campus like zombies, finding comfort in friends and connecting with family. Many felt like they would rather be home and not at college at all. Some had "home" change so drastically that day that they would rather be anywhere else.
Those friends that I had made during my first weeks of college were all finally able to contact their families and friends, and thankfully, all were safe. There were others at school, however, who lost loved ones on that horrible day.
At Marist there was a candlelight vigil that night, and another in a memorial service on 9/11/02. An alumnus who worked in the search efforts donated to the college a steel crossbeam from the towers - a physical monument to remember that day.
We had a beautiful service at church this morning, on the 10th anniversary of 9/11/01. There have been many television documentaries and programs this week dedicated to the memory of those who were lost, close to 3000 American lives. We have all shed some tears this week as we have watched and remembered.
Connor was not even "a glimmer in our eyes" on that terrible day. But, just as we will NEVER forget, I want him to know and learn and appreciate those involved in the rescue efforts of their fellow Americans, and also those who lost their lives that day.
Don't allow yourself to forget. Talk about it with your children. Love on those who serve our country. Work your hardest to never take our freedoms for granted.
God Bless the USA!
