I Remember

I’ll always remember 9/11. I was in the second grade, and my family was stationed in Germany.

I remember my dad came home early, and turned on the TV.

I remember clearly seeing that image of flame, smoke, and destruction.

I remember I had no idea what was going on—but I knew it wasn’t good.

From there on out, the base was on high alert. Barricades, and car checks at the gates—complete with dogs and armed men. I remember sandbags—a plethora of sandbags.

I remember asking my dad what they were for. He told me they were to stop bullets from coming through. I couldn’t even imagine that someone would try to shoot us.

I remember having a discussion in my second grade class. None of us truly knew the magnitude of what had happened, but we all felt the change.

As we walked onto the Department of Defense schools, there was full ID check—even for the kindergarteners. Security was tight, and tensions were high. 

Now that I’m older, I understand what happened. I don’t understand why it happened, and I never will. No one ever will. But now that I’m older, I can almost comprehend the magnitude of this tragic event, and so, I take pause on this day—and I remember.

I remember the ones who died that day.

I remember the loved ones they left behind.

May we never forget.

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