I wasn't born yet when it happened, but being in the US (and more specifically a state that was majorly affected from the attack, since two of the planes were from here), almost every year on 9/11 it would be touched on in school. However, it wasn't until this year (I'm a senior in high school) when one of my classes watched a documentary on it that I truly "understood" the attacks. Until now, it seemed so foreign to me what happened, like yes I understood many people died, including a woman from my city, and heard stories about it, but actually watching a video of one of the planes hitting the towers really stuck with me and was a powerful moment in helping me understand the event.
September 11th 2001 - Where were you?
- Thread starter TeaLovingDave
- Start date
I was teaching an IT class for a small group of Animal Care students starting their HND course (Higher National Diploma is a UK vocational qualification equivalent to a the initial 2 years of a first degree). I was introducing them to our College network and trying to find out how familiar they were with the internet - which was still relatively new in those days.
I was 31 and living in Belgium.
I was a Military Policeman at the time assigned to a NATO mission. I was on a special detail that day. The children of some of the Americans attended a local Belgian school and on that day I was assigned to escort the bus from the school to the children’s homes in the surrounding communities.
The bus was driven by a very kind, older Belgian gentleman, who used to speak Dutch to the children. The younger ones actually attended classes with their Belgian peers and were able to converse with him in that language. I was impressed how well the kids had picked the language up.
I have posted elsewhere of my linguistic adventures among the folks of Belgium and the Netherlands and am in genuine awe regarding their multilingualism. I would try to impress the driver, he reminded me of my Grandfather who was in declining health back in Florida, with my “command” of his language.
We arrived at one house that was home to two small girls on the bus. Their mother was in the house laid up a broken leg. Knowing she would be unable to meet the girls out on the street, I walked with them down the ally to their door.
I was surprised to see their mother meet us on the stoop. She open the door and waved at her girls to go inside. She then told me that they (who?) had flown two planes into the World Trade Center in New York. So my first word of the event and I knew it was a terrorist act. Intentionally done.
I went back to the bus and as the driver opened the door, before I boarded, I told him that two planes had hit the twin towers in New York. I spoke in English and he clearly did not understand me. I gestured and made a *boom* noise and said “Grote bomb, big bomb, oorlog in New York. In America. Oorlog.” He smiled hesitantly and nodded. He didn’t understand or know what I was saying. I don’t speak Dutch and I have the stories to prove it.
We dropped the last couple kids at their homes and returned to the base. Security was visibly tighter and the driver looked back at me and I said “yeah. Oorlog. War.” Once through the gate he let me off and I ran down to the American compound, and the Security section. I passed a young lady who worked with us and she yelled to me that they hit the Pentagon. I know then that it was going to be a very long night.
When I next saw the bus driver, a few days later, he looked me in the eye and shook his head sadly.
I got to the Security building and headed down to my office (I was the training sergeant and oversaw the armory as well). My guys were standing by as the word was sent out to our off duty personnel to return to work.
The television in the training room was on and the Armed Forces Network channels were all playing American news programming. The towers were still burning.
I had lived in the Hudson Valley about 40 miles north of the city in my early teens and much of my family did (and still does) live in Naugatuck valley in Connecticut. I was very familiar with New York City. My father had actually been born in raised in Manhattan by his Irish immigrant parents. How New York is that?
I knew the city and I was part of culture of the city and the tri-state area. Once when I was 14, my Boy Scout Troop actually camped out in the observation deck of the World Trade Center. I remember we were all pretty disappointed when we learned we would not actually be camping on the open roof.
So I watched, as we waited, the towers burn. A good friend of mine, we’d been stationed together in Boston in the late ‘80’s…he is now a police officer in north Florida…in the same department as my brother believe it or not…was watching too. People in the room were talking about what was happening. On the screen, a newscaster was back in view.
The view cut away from the newscaster and back to the towers. Great columns of smoke filled the screen and my friend said “something just happened that’s different.” I watched the screen and I said to him, “the tower just collapsed.” In a minute or two it was confirmed.
As the off-duty personnel returned to base we worked a posting plan and begin arming them, while our commander coordinated with the Belgian commander regarding our Security posture.
Those of you who have served in the military (any military) are likely familiar with the term “hurry up and wait.” So as the hallway filled up with young Americans wondering what they were going to do next, word was received about Flight 93 and how it hit the ground in a field in Pennsylvania. Speculation of what happened began and I just knew, and I said, “the passengers brought it down.” I knew that’s what had happened.
The next few days are less clear. Long hours, little sleep. Genuine kindness from our Belgian and Dutch neighbors and colleagues. Obviously it was not the same for them. But they were very kind as they watched Americans going through something…well…something that doesn’t happen to Americans.
That’s what we all felt then.
And you could tell some folks were nearly as apprehensive about what we Americans might do in response. I understood that too and cared not one bit.
And I knew many of them were ready to join us…I do not suffer the American conceit of believing people in other countries are monolithic in their opinions and values. These were real people. Some were angry, some were scared, I even met a few who were thrilled…but almost all, even those who could sympathize with the motives of those worthless, foul, and evil men, were very kind.
Not long after that, a week or so, I was driving the Highway from Weert down to Heerlen…and my drive coincided with a day the Dutch (all of Europe I believe) had set aside to observe a moment of silence for those victims in New York, Virginia, and Pennsylvania.
As I drove south, in my conspicuous American car, I noticed motorists on both sides of the highway, pull over and stand outside their cars. I knew that is was arrogant of me…maybe even disrespectful and distracting from what was happening…but I didn’t pull over. As hundreds of Netherlanders stood on that Highway…I drove and not for the first time in those weeks, my eyes flooded with tears.
I don’t know if the right word for me to use is love. But in the moment, I felt the Dutch expressing their love for us…for my people. My country. It was overwhelming. Just me driving while they stood…that one small selfish thing…maybe a sign their expressions of sympathy and respect were undeserved by us or me.
That’s what we all felt then.
In that darkest time. When our faces still burned with the sting of the hate directed at us…our friends and our allies stood up. Their hands on our shoulders. Canadians, Brits, the Irish, I’d meet. The English…they were like big brothers…ready to pick you up and push you back into it. Bracing you. The Belgians, Dutch, and Germans I worked with in Europe. The Koreans, Spanish, French and Romanians in Central Asia. As well as our hosts. The Turks and the Russians we crossed paths with. It’s not universal…but nearly so. Just the kindness of so many people.
I remember that more than almost anything else.
About four weeks later, my grandfather died and I was able to secure a week’s leave to return to Connecticut where he was to be buried. I flew into Newark. I saw the hole in the New York skyline. I caught a quick transfer to Hartford and then to my family.
They were obviously interested in what I thought would happen next. My uncle’s wife, who was born and raised in Dublin, Ireland, who was not yet an American citizen, but who was the mother of two young American boys (8 and 6) at the time, asked if I thought there would be a draft. I said “no, it’s better with volunteers. I guess if it’s still going on when your sons are 18, maybe…”. Her sons were 28 and 26 last month.
“Do you think it will last that long?” “I don’t know…this is going to big. We’ve been in Europe 60 years. We’ve been tied up in the Gulf for ten. The Russians were there for 12.” My uncle asked if I thought we’d win. I said, “yeah…I mean we basically are about to whack a hornets nest, we are going to stung, but yeah..we’re gonna kill them. Until we decide to leave.”
My brother was was there from his posting in California. He was also on active duty. Home for my grandfather’s funeral. His oldest son was 12 that year. His son served in Afghanistan with the Marines in 2009.
My brother and I were in uniform for my grandfathers funeral and I gave the eulogy for the grandchildren. Some of you may know the tune “Taps”. It’s often played at the funerals of fallen soldiers. It’s not exclusive to that purpose. If you have ever lived on a American military base you might know that it is often played on the loudspeakers very late in the evening. 2100 or 2200 hours is most common.
As I spoke that October about trying to live up to the example and the values of my grandfather. My brother joined me and we spoke how in our military service, my grandfather’s example in the manner in which he lived in his life…was a touchstone for us. When our day would call for integrity or kindness or respect. Service. We would look to our grandfather’s example.
And I then talked about Taps and what it meant…not just what it means as a lament for the fallen (which was what it mean to us that night), but that it is also an assurance when those mournful tones fill the dark night…where often the only one that hears them is a Sentry, a Security Forces member, or a Military Policeman on some lonely post.
The assurance of those sad and somber notes, in that context, is the assurance that all is well, and to rest, because in that dark night someone is on post and watching over us. And will continue to do so…until our world is a better place.
When we remember the dead we celebrate ourselves. Wether we are driving down a Dutch highway lined with the silent citizens of that beautiful little country taking time just to be thoughtful…or standing in a church singing the words that hardly anyone knows accompanies a tune that lays our dead to rest. Or writing all of this with two thumbs and remembering everything like it was yesterday. Like it was last month. And the feelings of shame and sadness and lament and fear are still there. The undeserved relief and all the regrets of fate and consequence.
But more than anything I remember the love on that bright, blue, horrible day and during the ones that followed. Only love can save us.
I’ve taken up a lot your time if you’ve read this. It’s probably rife with typos. And if I’ve learned anything on this page, it’s that not many of you agree with me very often. I have probably written disagreeable things here as well…but on that day, which even now does not seem to have fully closed…this is what I felt.
I was a Military Policeman at the time assigned to a NATO mission. I was on a special detail that day. The children of some of the Americans attended a local Belgian school and on that day I was assigned to escort the bus from the school to the children’s homes in the surrounding communities.
The bus was driven by a very kind, older Belgian gentleman, who used to speak Dutch to the children. The younger ones actually attended classes with their Belgian peers and were able to converse with him in that language. I was impressed how well the kids had picked the language up.
I have posted elsewhere of my linguistic adventures among the folks of Belgium and the Netherlands and am in genuine awe regarding their multilingualism. I would try to impress the driver, he reminded me of my Grandfather who was in declining health back in Florida, with my “command” of his language.
We arrived at one house that was home to two small girls on the bus. Their mother was in the house laid up a broken leg. Knowing she would be unable to meet the girls out on the street, I walked with them down the ally to their door.
I was surprised to see their mother meet us on the stoop. She open the door and waved at her girls to go inside. She then told me that they (who?) had flown two planes into the World Trade Center in New York. So my first word of the event and I knew it was a terrorist act. Intentionally done.
I went back to the bus and as the driver opened the door, before I boarded, I told him that two planes had hit the twin towers in New York. I spoke in English and he clearly did not understand me. I gestured and made a *boom* noise and said “Grote bomb, big bomb, oorlog in New York. In America. Oorlog.” He smiled hesitantly and nodded. He didn’t understand or know what I was saying. I don’t speak Dutch and I have the stories to prove it.
We dropped the last couple kids at their homes and returned to the base. Security was visibly tighter and the driver looked back at me and I said “yeah. Oorlog. War.” Once through the gate he let me off and I ran down to the American compound, and the Security section. I passed a young lady who worked with us and she yelled to me that they hit the Pentagon. I know then that it was going to be a very long night.
When I next saw the bus driver, a few days later, he looked me in the eye and shook his head sadly.
I got to the Security building and headed down to my office (I was the training sergeant and oversaw the armory as well). My guys were standing by as the word was sent out to our off duty personnel to return to work.
The television in the training room was on and the Armed Forces Network channels were all playing American news programming. The towers were still burning.
I had lived in the Hudson Valley about 40 miles north of the city in my early teens and much of my family did (and still does) live in Naugatuck valley in Connecticut. I was very familiar with New York City. My father had actually been born in raised in Manhattan by his Irish immigrant parents. How New York is that?
I knew the city and I was part of culture of the city and the tri-state area. Once when I was 14, my Boy Scout Troop actually camped out in the observation deck of the World Trade Center. I remember we were all pretty disappointed when we learned we would not actually be camping on the open roof.
So I watched, as we waited, the towers burn. A good friend of mine, we’d been stationed together in Boston in the late ‘80’s…he is now a police officer in north Florida…in the same department as my brother believe it or not…was watching too. People in the room were talking about what was happening. On the screen, a newscaster was back in view.
The view cut away from the newscaster and back to the towers. Great columns of smoke filled the screen and my friend said “something just happened that’s different.” I watched the screen and I said to him, “the tower just collapsed.” In a minute or two it was confirmed.
As the off-duty personnel returned to base we worked a posting plan and begin arming them, while our commander coordinated with the Belgian commander regarding our Security posture.
Those of you who have served in the military (any military) are likely familiar with the term “hurry up and wait.” So as the hallway filled up with young Americans wondering what they were going to do next, word was received about Flight 93 and how it hit the ground in a field in Pennsylvania. Speculation of what happened began and I just knew, and I said, “the passengers brought it down.” I knew that’s what had happened.
The next few days are less clear. Long hours, little sleep. Genuine kindness from our Belgian and Dutch neighbors and colleagues. Obviously it was not the same for them. But they were very kind as they watched Americans going through something…well…something that doesn’t happen to Americans.
That’s what we all felt then.
And you could tell some folks were nearly as apprehensive about what we Americans might do in response. I understood that too and cared not one bit.
And I knew many of them were ready to join us…I do not suffer the American conceit of believing people in other countries are monolithic in their opinions and values. These were real people. Some were angry, some were scared, I even met a few who were thrilled…but almost all, even those who could sympathize with the motives of those worthless, foul, and evil men, were very kind.
Not long after that, a week or so, I was driving the Highway from Weert down to Heerlen…and my drive coincided with a day the Dutch (all of Europe I believe) had set aside to observe a moment of silence for those victims in New York, Virginia, and Pennsylvania.
As I drove south, in my conspicuous American car, I noticed motorists on both sides of the highway, pull over and stand outside their cars. I knew that is was arrogant of me…maybe even disrespectful and distracting from what was happening…but I didn’t pull over. As hundreds of Netherlanders stood on that Highway…I drove and not for the first time in those weeks, my eyes flooded with tears.
I don’t know if the right word for me to use is love. But in the moment, I felt the Dutch expressing their love for us…for my people. My country. It was overwhelming. Just me driving while they stood…that one small selfish thing…maybe a sign their expressions of sympathy and respect were undeserved by us or me.
That’s what we all felt then.
In that darkest time. When our faces still burned with the sting of the hate directed at us…our friends and our allies stood up. Their hands on our shoulders. Canadians, Brits, the Irish, I’d meet. The English…they were like big brothers…ready to pick you up and push you back into it. Bracing you. The Belgians, Dutch, and Germans I worked with in Europe. The Koreans, Spanish, French and Romanians in Central Asia. As well as our hosts. The Turks and the Russians we crossed paths with. It’s not universal…but nearly so. Just the kindness of so many people.
I remember that more than almost anything else.
About four weeks later, my grandfather died and I was able to secure a week’s leave to return to Connecticut where he was to be buried. I flew into Newark. I saw the hole in the New York skyline. I caught a quick transfer to Hartford and then to my family.
They were obviously interested in what I thought would happen next. My uncle’s wife, who was born and raised in Dublin, Ireland, who was not yet an American citizen, but who was the mother of two young American boys (8 and 6) at the time, asked if I thought there would be a draft. I said “no, it’s better with volunteers. I guess if it’s still going on when your sons are 18, maybe…”. Her sons were 28 and 26 last month.
“Do you think it will last that long?” “I don’t know…this is going to big. We’ve been in Europe 60 years. We’ve been tied up in the Gulf for ten. The Russians were there for 12.” My uncle asked if I thought we’d win. I said, “yeah…I mean we basically are about to whack a hornets nest, we are going to stung, but yeah..we’re gonna kill them. Until we decide to leave.”
My brother was was there from his posting in California. He was also on active duty. Home for my grandfather’s funeral. His oldest son was 12 that year. His son served in Afghanistan with the Marines in 2009.
My brother and I were in uniform for my grandfathers funeral and I gave the eulogy for the grandchildren. Some of you may know the tune “Taps”. It’s often played at the funerals of fallen soldiers. It’s not exclusive to that purpose. If you have ever lived on a American military base you might know that it is often played on the loudspeakers very late in the evening. 2100 or 2200 hours is most common.
As I spoke that October about trying to live up to the example and the values of my grandfather. My brother joined me and we spoke how in our military service, my grandfather’s example in the manner in which he lived in his life…was a touchstone for us. When our day would call for integrity or kindness or respect. Service. We would look to our grandfather’s example.
And I then talked about Taps and what it meant…not just what it means as a lament for the fallen (which was what it mean to us that night), but that it is also an assurance when those mournful tones fill the dark night…where often the only one that hears them is a Sentry, a Security Forces member, or a Military Policeman on some lonely post.
The assurance of those sad and somber notes, in that context, is the assurance that all is well, and to rest, because in that dark night someone is on post and watching over us. And will continue to do so…until our world is a better place.
When we remember the dead we celebrate ourselves. Wether we are driving down a Dutch highway lined with the silent citizens of that beautiful little country taking time just to be thoughtful…or standing in a church singing the words that hardly anyone knows accompanies a tune that lays our dead to rest. Or writing all of this with two thumbs and remembering everything like it was yesterday. Like it was last month. And the feelings of shame and sadness and lament and fear are still there. The undeserved relief and all the regrets of fate and consequence.
But more than anything I remember the love on that bright, blue, horrible day and during the ones that followed. Only love can save us.
I’ve taken up a lot your time if you’ve read this. It’s probably rife with typos. And if I’ve learned anything on this page, it’s that not many of you agree with me very often. I have probably written disagreeable things here as well…but on that day, which even now does not seem to have fully closed…this is what I felt.
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Don't worry about the length of your post; this is exactly the kind of response I was hoping this thread would get
Very, immersive, emotional post, Pleistohorse. Well done.
I don’t mean to sound cliche but I remember it as if it happened yesterday when I think of it. I was 9 years old in Los Angeles, was in school at the time and was sent to the teachers lounge that was also partially connected to the cafeteria. There was a problem with my meal tickets which is why my teacher had sent me down there to get some new ones. As I was getting them, I remember within minutes the first tower being hit. All the adults in the lounge were mortified and shocked, I could here them talk amongst themselves and speaking about family they had in New York at the time. Some stepped out to make calls, others were crying. I was confused and scared all at the same time, walking back nervously to my class.
I walk in and told my teacher “one of the towers got hit”. He seemed confused but then was interrupted by one of the other teachers to speak amongst themselves. Our class was put on a sort of lockdown, due to the incoming news that the planes were originally headed to LA so perhaps an attack was imminent. I don’t remember this part precisely but I believe all the students were let out early that day to be picked up by our parents or guardians. My mom had left to Mexico just days before as her mother was having hours long brain tumor surgery, she kept trying to call frantically as she was also receiving the news and saw the part of planes originally headed to LA but the lines were being held up.
It’s a sad and painful day many remember, the choices taken by those in power following immediately has shaped the country and the world as well. It has never been the same since.
I walk in and told my teacher “one of the towers got hit”. He seemed confused but then was interrupted by one of the other teachers to speak amongst themselves. Our class was put on a sort of lockdown, due to the incoming news that the planes were originally headed to LA so perhaps an attack was imminent. I don’t remember this part precisely but I believe all the students were let out early that day to be picked up by our parents or guardians. My mom had left to Mexico just days before as her mother was having hours long brain tumor surgery, she kept trying to call frantically as she was also receiving the news and saw the part of planes originally headed to LA but the lines were being held up.
It’s a sad and painful day many remember, the choices taken by those in power following immediately has shaped the country and the world as well. It has never been the same since.
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I was not born yet in 2001, but I can't tell you the first time I understood what it was, either. I know I've been hearing talk of the events of this day my entire life. It feels so weird that people seem to talk about as if it just happened, yet to me it feels like a historical events, like if people were talking about Word War II as if it happened yesterday.
Yep. When I was growing up it was the same thing for me and my friends regarding the War in Vietnam and the Assassination of JFK. They all seemed so recent and I often was struck by my not actually having been born yet when these events happened. As I get older…and see “my time” from the perspectives of younger people…it kind of makes sense.
Interesting that you mentioned JFK. I was born in 1957, so my first memories of Historical news were the death of Churchill, and assassination of JFK. For Churchill, my understanding was he was an old man, and he took a long time on his deathbed; I knew he was an important leader, but it took a long time to really understand why. For JFK, I knew he was US President, and I knew what the word “assassination “ meant; but why someone would feel that killing him would accomplish some kind of meaningful change? No idea then, nor, realistically now. As for the least explicable reaction to an item of news; I was on teaching practice when Lennon was killed; why this would cause a qualified teacher to say “well, he who lived by the sword dies by the sword” baffled me then, and baffles me now!
Pootle
Well-Known Member
I was working in central Manchester in an office, there was about 15 of us in the office and someone said “A plane has flown into the one of the Twin Towers in NY” My first thought, I remember clearly was ‘yeah right’…. That’s the truth, I clearly remember thinking that, then someone else said so... In the next 5 minutes we went to a training room which had a TV and put it on, all of us were glued to the news. We worked on the 7th floor of a building in Manchester city centre and we all felt nervous, possibly silly looking back, but that is what happened. The owner said to go home after the second plane struck the other tower. Those events happened crystal clearly in my mind. I don’t remember the train journey home or much afterwards, but that hour or so in the office will stay with me forever. It was literally one of those things you can see but the mind cannot comprehend it in real time.
In a school Library we learned about it by doing a read-aloud in 2nd grade about the traumatic event. I also remember talking to my parents that day about what I learned, and they talked about where they were in 9/11. Judging from the way they were talking about it, I could tell they were discouraged by my question, but It was informational to me, since I now understand what it all felt like.
I was at Preschool I don't remember much but I remember the walls of the preschool had ocean animals painted on them as my mommy was telling me how bad people hit the towers
Wasn't yet born, but my dad has told me many times about how he found out. He was a history teacher at the time. He was teaching his class when one of the other teachers came into his room and told him he needed to see the TV. After watching the attacks, my dad had to explain to his class what was currently happening.
9-11 is also one of the main reasons my mom joined the Navy. She was deployed to Afghanistan when I was four to provide mental and medical services for soldiers and some civilians. I remember moving from San Diego to my grandparent's house in Tennessee with my dad and my little sibling, who had just been born a year prior. I didn't understand what was happening, I just knew mom was going to be away for a year. After she came back, I spent my childhood moving across the country until my mom retired after 12 years in the Navy, and now we live in a little town in Iowa. While I wasn't alive at the time, 9-11 indirectly affected my childhood.
9-11 is also one of the main reasons my mom joined the Navy. She was deployed to Afghanistan when I was four to provide mental and medical services for soldiers and some civilians. I remember moving from San Diego to my grandparent's house in Tennessee with my dad and my little sibling, who had just been born a year prior. I didn't understand what was happening, I just knew mom was going to be away for a year. After she came back, I spent my childhood moving across the country until my mom retired after 12 years in the Navy, and now we live in a little town in Iowa. While I wasn't alive at the time, 9-11 indirectly affected my childhood.
Bactrian Deer
Well-Known Member
I wasn’t born yet, I was born 8 years later (possibly making me the youngest zoochatter). I remember my parents talking about it, but I remember their stories of them being in a classroom watching this happen, as well as my grandparent’s stories, one was in Canada with no communication to the US, he was on a hunting trip and came back the day of the attack and he was stopped because of having weapons to hunt. And the other was working for the government and was stuck in there because a bulldozer was barricading the government building.
Thought I'd add my two cents here;
I wasn't yet alive at the time but have heard countless stories from those who were at the time, and remember it very clearly. I thought I'd make it known that I am in Australia - so this is a little bit of a different perspective.
I'll share the story that my junior school librarian told me many many years ago; of which I think is probably most suitable to this thread. I don't know why; but I recall this interaction extremely well despite it occurring over a decade ago now.
She was a teacher back then, and happened to be sick on that day. For that reason she was up much later than usual. When the first plane hit the first tower, it was almost eleven pm over here in Australia. She was in bed and happened to be watching TV at the time. She was apparently channel surfing, and managed to come across a news channel that was broadcasting the attack live at the time. She told me that she stopped, shocked and simply sat there in silence. To her it looked as if a bomb had hit the building; and reporting was apparently very iffy at the time regarding what exactly was happening.
She then watched on as the second plane hit the second tower. Despite the fact that she was sick, she got up and woke up her husband. For the next hour or so, she said they both sat there and watched as the rest of the attack unfolded (onto the pentagon) and the crash in Pennsylvania. Her husband was apparently unusually shaken up by the whole thing, of which she laughed about when telling me. But in all seriousness, it seems the whole world was at the time.
Like many she was initially quite disbelieving. She believed it had to have been an accidental crash, even after she witnessed the second plane crashing. She, like many, refused to believe it was intentional. And I think that's one thing that sticks out to me from many stories that I've heard. The attacks were so unprecedented, no one thought such a thing could ever happen. Jumbo jets (filled with people) used as weapons of mass destruction. It was a ridiculous thought at the time and the reality of how 9/11 was carried out still stuck around in her mind, even going to more than a decade after it had occurred.
She also recalled how so many were so afraid of flying for a long period after 9/11. She told me that her husband went on a business meeting to France a few months later and even the plane (from Melbourne, Australia) was unusually empty. A very eerie experience I would've imagined.
I've always wondered why she decided to tell me the whole story, but I guess it's a very important part of not only American history, but worldwide history and so I thank her for that. Sharing and learning from the past will hopefully ensure such an event will never happen again.
Rest in peace to all of the victims.
I wasn't yet alive at the time but have heard countless stories from those who were at the time, and remember it very clearly. I thought I'd make it known that I am in Australia - so this is a little bit of a different perspective.
I'll share the story that my junior school librarian told me many many years ago; of which I think is probably most suitable to this thread. I don't know why; but I recall this interaction extremely well despite it occurring over a decade ago now.
She was a teacher back then, and happened to be sick on that day. For that reason she was up much later than usual. When the first plane hit the first tower, it was almost eleven pm over here in Australia. She was in bed and happened to be watching TV at the time. She was apparently channel surfing, and managed to come across a news channel that was broadcasting the attack live at the time. She told me that she stopped, shocked and simply sat there in silence. To her it looked as if a bomb had hit the building; and reporting was apparently very iffy at the time regarding what exactly was happening.
She then watched on as the second plane hit the second tower. Despite the fact that she was sick, she got up and woke up her husband. For the next hour or so, she said they both sat there and watched as the rest of the attack unfolded (onto the pentagon) and the crash in Pennsylvania. Her husband was apparently unusually shaken up by the whole thing, of which she laughed about when telling me. But in all seriousness, it seems the whole world was at the time.
Like many she was initially quite disbelieving. She believed it had to have been an accidental crash, even after she witnessed the second plane crashing. She, like many, refused to believe it was intentional. And I think that's one thing that sticks out to me from many stories that I've heard. The attacks were so unprecedented, no one thought such a thing could ever happen. Jumbo jets (filled with people) used as weapons of mass destruction. It was a ridiculous thought at the time and the reality of how 9/11 was carried out still stuck around in her mind, even going to more than a decade after it had occurred.
She also recalled how so many were so afraid of flying for a long period after 9/11. She told me that her husband went on a business meeting to France a few months later and even the plane (from Melbourne, Australia) was unusually empty. A very eerie experience I would've imagined.
I've always wondered why she decided to tell me the whole story, but I guess it's a very important part of not only American history, but worldwide history and so I thank her for that. Sharing and learning from the past will hopefully ensure such an event will never happen again.
Rest in peace to all of the victims.
Tigeanderson
Well-Known Member
I was very very little when it happened but I do remember what my mom told me and she told me that I was with a babysitter and my mom went down to the beach and she could see the smoke coming from the twin towers.
I had started my first year of secondary school only a little more than a week before 9/11. The attacks happened in the early afternoon Western European time, so I was at school when it happened and unaware until later. I actually first heard about the attacks from my father in the car when he picked us up from the bus stop, although he didn't really communicate just how bad it was, or didn't yet know at the time. Soon thereafter at home I first saw and was shocked by the infamous footage of the Twin Towers, I seem to remember I saw the towers collapse more or less live on tv. I remember thinking, although I was an 11, almost 12-year old with pretty little understanding of the world back then, that this would change things majorly and that things would not be the same after this.
Unfortunately in the first couple of years of 9/11, being darker-haired and darker-skinned than the average Belgian teen and being the most foreign-looking kid (despite not being a foreigner, though I do have some Mediterranean blood), at least in my relatively rural region, I was subjected to quite a lot of racist bullying at school, starting the long misery that were my secondary school years for me.
To those who may have been personally affected by 9/11 or any other terrorist attack, I offer you my most sincere sympathy.
Unfortunately in the first couple of years of 9/11, being darker-haired and darker-skinned than the average Belgian teen and being the most foreign-looking kid (despite not being a foreigner, though I do have some Mediterranean blood), at least in my relatively rural region, I was subjected to quite a lot of racist bullying at school, starting the long misery that were my secondary school years for me.
To those who may have been personally affected by 9/11 or any other terrorist attack, I offer you my most sincere sympathy.
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Ruby Razor
New Member
wasnt born yet but last year at my music course i had a friend born september 11th 1997
unfortunately he woke up on his birthday and his parents were in horror watching the news, he told me his first thoughts were "why are my parents watching a movie and not prioritizing me on my birthday"
i heard other stories about it, so many people thought it was a movie trailer too.
unfortunately he woke up on his birthday and his parents were in horror watching the news, he told me his first thoughts were "why are my parents watching a movie and not prioritizing me on my birthday"
i heard other stories about it, so many people thought it was a movie trailer too.
felis silvestris
Well-Known Member
Same, I was also born 8 years later. Funny I'm managing to still make polls and be in school
