September 11, 2001 I was teaching at Patrick Henry High School in Ashland, Virginia. Everyone was present for my Spanish 2 class that morning except for Jessica. Jessica was always late. As predicted, she burst through the door with fanfare and interrupted my lesson in a panicky wail that she had just heard that "New York was under attack." I kind of dismissed it, but she was very persistent and riled up her classmates. This was pre-cell phone and we had no Internet in the classroom, so I couldn't really check on anything (nor could they) without turning on the classroom television set. I have no idea if it was because of Jessica's tone or the class getting hyped up or what made me think this was something I needed to check into, but I turned on the television just in time to see the images of a World Trade Center tower burning, then collapse. My knees gave out and I caught myself on my podium as the class watched in horror. I wanted to comfort them, but I could not find words. I wanted to turn off the television and unsee what I had seen- for me and for them. Andrew and Brandon walked up next to me- maybe to be there in case I fell, maybe to get a better view, I don't know. I was grateful they did, though, because the sick sensation only got worse as I watched the next image of the Pentagon flash across the screen. The Pentagon had an airplane smashed into it where there once was a solid wall. Debris was everywhere and people were flailing, running, or standing frozen in shock. The Pentagon had been attacked as well.
My father worked at the Pentagon.
I don't remember the next few minutes, really. At some point in that time, Kevin, my best-teacher friend showed up. He had planning first block and was standing in front of me blocking my view of the television. He had me by the shoulders and was saying something that I couldn't really hear to my students- or maybe to me. I really don't know. I wanted to tell him my Dad was in the Pentagon and the Pentagon had been crashed into and I was scared and I needed to talk to my Dad, but I couldn't function. I couldn't even speak. The next thing I do recall, though is not having to say any of that to Kevin because he already knew. He told me he would watch my class and had Andrew and Brandon walk me to my Assistant Principal's office. I stood in the doorway as my sophomore young men calmly explained my situation to Mr. Cash. I just stared at them. Mr. Cash thanked them and sent them away and I just stood in the doorway. I had no words.
Then I freaked out. I snatched his desk phone without asking permission and dialed my Daddy's work number. Busy. Dialed it again. Busy. Dialed it again. Busy. Dialed it again- and then Mr. Cash put his hand on my hand that was on the phone and I looked up and noticed he had tears in his eyes. It was also the first time I noticed I was crying. The first words I spoke since seeing the frightening images I had seen were, "I have to talk to my father."
It was surreal. He gave me the phone back and told me to call my mother. I did. No answer. I called my sister and brother with the same results. And I dialed my Daddy's work number no less than five dozen times only to hear the deafening buzz of a busy signal. Mr. Cash had stepped out of the office at some point and called my husband, Wayne. I looked up and Wayne was in the doorway. I was being sent home.
The next forty-eight hours were nightmarish. The family eventually all connected, except for my father. Every time the phone rang, I felt nauseous. Was that going to be "the call?" The problem was that all of the phone lines were jammed across the greater Washington D.C. Area and all incoming traffic was rerouted around the city. No one heard from Dad.
Then the phone rang at 10:16 AM on September 13. My father had survived. He had walked over eight miles and shown up on the door of my great aunt in Arlington, Virginia. He could not get a phone line out to let anyone know he was alive until that morning. Unfortunately, our neighbor, his carpool mate, and dear family friend, Lieutenant Colonel Karl W. Tepee could not be located. Mr. Tepee was later identified by his remains amongst the rubble.
I returned to school feeling very raw. I looked out at my group of amazing students and I surprised myself with what I said to them. It wasn't planned, but it was a knee-jerk reaction to seeing their innocent faces in a new light. "I'm sorry," I said. "I am so sorry that I turned on the TV. I should not have subjected you all to that and it was irresponsible and I understand if you are upset with me. I truly am sorry." They all offered their forgiveness but only some of them understood my point. As a classroom teacher, showing your students something you have not previewed, something that may or may not be appropriate, or something unpredictable is simply not okay. I had always been so careful about that. It was a horrible lapse in judgment that exposed them to a kind of evil and monstrosity that was previously unfathomable. These images were so terrifying they were even pulled from national television. Yet I had flicked on the TV in a most unprotected manner and shown them all.
I suppose this was a turning point for me in the classroom. It was not so long after this that the Internet became status quo in schools and could be used to show materials. Every video, every image, every website I shared with my students had to be scrutinized. It was also not so long after this that we were equipped with tools to make sharing materials safe and easy with students, like My Big Campus. I could still use YouTube videos without alarming previews or shady comments showing up. I could unblock websites with rich content while hiding the less-than-savory images that may pop up on the screen. I could even send them to do searches in a library full of filtered, appropriate content instead of the scary unknowns of the World Wide Web.
Many lessons came out of 9-11 for me. I positively do not take people in my life for granted anymore. I have mentioned the professional impact this had on me, as well. Lastly, I had a renewed sense of patriotism as I watched a nation in mourning rally by volunteering, donating blood, fund-raising, comforting, and rebuilding. As the twelfth anniversary of 9-11 approaches, I do hope everyone takes some time to reflect, appreciate, and dedicate themselves to finding the silver linings that can happen even after tragedies such as 9-11.
image retrieved from: http://donna-mcdine.blogspot.com/2012/09/september-11-prayer.html
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