Mr. Gray and I took a quick trip to the coast with friends this weekend. We had a blast! I’m just particular enough about not getting sand on stuff that I didn’t take a single photo. Ugh. I think Honey or Cookie took some. I’ll try to get them at some point.
On the way home yesterday, we were talking about where we were when the planes crashed on September 11, 2001. I was a junior in high school, and, to be very honest, I did not see any importance or implications from the attack at the time. I remember being at school; I remember it being morning; I remember the principal coming over the intercom and asking teachers to turn on the TV; I remember which classroom I was in at the time. I don’t, however, remember a feeling or a tugging or an urgency like most people describe. I don’t remember what I was wearing. I didn’t cry. I wasn’t scared. I didn’t realize there was any reason at all I should have been.
That day, Aunt B, Mr. Gray, and I went to lunch at a local place that does not have a TV. A TV was there that day. The news coverage was on when we came in; we didn’t sit at our regular table that day. We sat close to the TV so Mr. Gray could watch. Aunt B and I complained about the coverage and wondered when regular TV would resume.
Looking back, I feel so silly and immature. I mean, I was. I was 16. I didn’t know anyone on the east of Houston. I had never been to New England or anywhere near there. I had no clue what the attacks meant. None. Every year, I think about my selfishness. My silliness. My clueless-ness.
I know I have grown; I know I am different. I am a mother and wife. I am a daughter of the most amazing and unconditional Father. I have grown as a person. I can rest confidently in the fact that I would react differently if I were faced with the same situation today.