"It’s hard to understand why someone would do such a thing at 20, but it was even harder then."
When the planes hit, I was 10. It’s hard to understand why someone would do such a thing at 20, but it was even harder then. At first, they didn’t tell us what was going on. I lived in Jamestown, NY at the time, all the way across the state, but they were still worried about us. I was in lunch and my next class was math. The teacher had been teaching for years and he would turn 50 the next Valentine’s day. When we all filed in after having our lunch cut short, he told us in a very outright manner that he wasn’t allowed to play the news in the classroom about what was going on, but he believed we had the right to know. We sat in stunned silence and watched the news coverage right there on the projector that ought to have been teaching us about something much more mundane, much less frightening. We were all sent home early where we gathered in our neighbor’s garages and watched the news with the same horrified expression as our parents. I don’t know if I knew exactly the impact that day had on our country, but I do know that in the next few days my dad painted an American flag in honor of those that died in that day on our big red barn. I don’t think it’s something I’ll forget anytime soon, but the edges may fade as others become sharper. I hope above all hope that no generation after ours has to go through something as big and defined as this.
— April M.