Member-only story
September 12, 2001
I remember the morning of 9/12/2001. I was a teacher, and I had been with my students when the horrific events of the day before had unfolded.
I remember how we tried to protect the kids from the reality of what was happening. I remember our principal asking all of us to turn off TVs and to not talk about what was taking place around the country. I remember spending a planning period in my office, helping colleagues call friends and relatives who may have been in the Towers, or on one of the flights.
I remember my principal coming to get me when a Russian immigrant arrived at the school, terrified by the news. As our school’s only Russian speaker, she asked me to explain to the frightened man that his children were safe with us, and that we were not presenting the news to the kids. I remember his eyes, dark brown and filled with such sorrow; he nodded his head, thanked us for our concern, and asked firmly that we send his two children to him right away.
He had no reason to respect the words of the government or the public school. He had lived through enough to demand that we bring his precious children to him so that he could take them home where he felt that he could keep them safe.
I remember the moment when a colleague's husband came to get his children; his brother had been on one of the planes. I remember hearing that a woman…
