I was in first grade when the Challenger exploded. I lived just a couple of hours north of Cape Canaveral, close enough that you can sometimes hear the sonic boom as the shuttles blast towards space. It was first grade, though, and we were all going to be able to watch the shuttle take off. However, we had a substitute teacher that day and apparently we had been misbehaving so our punishment was that we were not going to be able to watch the shuttle take off. In many ways this ended up being a protection to our little hearts and minds because what first grader needs to see a space shuttle explode. I was in my 20s before I ever saw the footage. Even though it was in many ways a blessing to miss the live coverage of that event, I always felt detached from what for many of my peers was the defining tragedy of our childhood.
Fast forward about 15 years and I'm a 22-year-old two weeks into my first year in China. Sept 11, 2001 was just another day for us. We taught our classes and went to bed. Shortly before midnight that night, our team leaders called to tell us there was an emergency team meeting. They had been informed of the attack on the US by an Australian ex-pat on our campus and then called home to try and find out what they could. We met, and prayed, and shared what information we could (which was precious little). We returned to our rooms and I and my two roommates all climbed into Helen's bed sitting in a little row holding each other and desperately trying to find out more on the internet. The internet was so, so slow. And msnbc had basically crashed at that point because of traffic. There was no facebook or twitter or youtube. We cried and worried and prayed and eventually drifted off into fitful sleep.
The next day, while our country mourned, we got up and went off to teach class. For us, it was just another day, one like any other that year. Except we were exhausted and still really didn't know all that was going on back home. Our Chinese colleagues expressed their sorrow, but this was shortly after the bombing of the Chinese embassy and the Hainan spy plane incident, so you did have to wonder whether that was said in complete sincerity or with a slight twist of thinking that the "superpower" America had finally gotten what it had coming.
Someone had apparently told the kids at the school because my classes all started the same way. A group of Chinese 2nd graders would surround the desk at the front of the classroom. They would call "Teacher, Teacher!" and lacking the words to say what they wanted to express, they would run around with their arms out making buzzing noises and then mimic crashing into something and make explosion sounds. And then say "Sorry, Teacher, sorry." It was like the most horrifying game of charades ever.
At home, friends and family were off work, out of school and watching 24 hour coverage of the event. In China we were desperately flipping through Chinese TV stations trying to find footage of the events since none of the broadcasts were in English. Life marched on very quickly for us in China. There was no pause, no break. There wasn't even really much information. While my nation grieved and gave and rallied, I taught the A-B-C dance and the banana song to 80 seven year-olds. My mom sent me a VHS of the telethon for 9/11, but we never got around to watching it. By the time it arrived weeks after 9/11 life had quickly moved on in China.
Having not experienced the tragedy of 9/11 in my homeland, I was definitely disconnected from it. I remember causing a friend's mom to break into tears in the candy aisle at Walgreens with my ignorant comments about 9/11 and the aftereffects. So today, 11 years later, as my nation remembers and mourns again, I'm still struggling to understand what really happened, what it was really like to live through those horrible days and what the toll on my homeland was. How do I remember something I wasn't here for?
Today I'm incredibly thankful for Meg Cabot's (yes, of the Princess Diaries) post on her experiences in downtown New York 11 years ago. I'm thankful to her for providing one more bridge into understanding and identifying with how my country, my family, and my friends were affected on that horrible day.
Here's the link to her post about it. Warning: I cried basically once a paragraph.
Fast forward about 15 years and I'm a 22-year-old two weeks into my first year in China. Sept 11, 2001 was just another day for us. We taught our classes and went to bed. Shortly before midnight that night, our team leaders called to tell us there was an emergency team meeting. They had been informed of the attack on the US by an Australian ex-pat on our campus and then called home to try and find out what they could. We met, and prayed, and shared what information we could (which was precious little). We returned to our rooms and I and my two roommates all climbed into Helen's bed sitting in a little row holding each other and desperately trying to find out more on the internet. The internet was so, so slow. And msnbc had basically crashed at that point because of traffic. There was no facebook or twitter or youtube. We cried and worried and prayed and eventually drifted off into fitful sleep.
The next day, while our country mourned, we got up and went off to teach class. For us, it was just another day, one like any other that year. Except we were exhausted and still really didn't know all that was going on back home. Our Chinese colleagues expressed their sorrow, but this was shortly after the bombing of the Chinese embassy and the Hainan spy plane incident, so you did have to wonder whether that was said in complete sincerity or with a slight twist of thinking that the "superpower" America had finally gotten what it had coming.
Someone had apparently told the kids at the school because my classes all started the same way. A group of Chinese 2nd graders would surround the desk at the front of the classroom. They would call "Teacher, Teacher!" and lacking the words to say what they wanted to express, they would run around with their arms out making buzzing noises and then mimic crashing into something and make explosion sounds. And then say "Sorry, Teacher, sorry." It was like the most horrifying game of charades ever.
At home, friends and family were off work, out of school and watching 24 hour coverage of the event. In China we were desperately flipping through Chinese TV stations trying to find footage of the events since none of the broadcasts were in English. Life marched on very quickly for us in China. There was no pause, no break. There wasn't even really much information. While my nation grieved and gave and rallied, I taught the A-B-C dance and the banana song to 80 seven year-olds. My mom sent me a VHS of the telethon for 9/11, but we never got around to watching it. By the time it arrived weeks after 9/11 life had quickly moved on in China.
Shortly after the attack, I remember going to an English Corner where some of the college students would practice their English with us. One student came up to me asked about 9-1-1. She said it like that - "nine one one" - and I assumed that she was talking about our emergency system and launched into a whole explanation about emergency and rescue services. She was like "no, with the planes." I had no idea that in America it was even being referred to as 9/11 (nine eleven) to make that connection for her. I didn't know what we called "that day."
Having not experienced the tragedy of 9/11 in my homeland, I was definitely disconnected from it. I remember causing a friend's mom to break into tears in the candy aisle at Walgreens with my ignorant comments about 9/11 and the aftereffects. So today, 11 years later, as my nation remembers and mourns again, I'm still struggling to understand what really happened, what it was really like to live through those horrible days and what the toll on my homeland was. How do I remember something I wasn't here for?
Today I'm incredibly thankful for Meg Cabot's (yes, of the Princess Diaries) post on her experiences in downtown New York 11 years ago. I'm thankful to her for providing one more bridge into understanding and identifying with how my country, my family, and my friends were affected on that horrible day.
Here's the link to her post about it. Warning: I cried basically once a paragraph.
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