story923.xml
Title
story923.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2002-07-22
911DA Story: Story
After snoozing for forty mintues, much to the dismay of my roomate, eating a quick bowl of instant oatmeal and shoving a notebook and pen into my backback I hit the sidewalk. Destinaton:Statistics 100,8:00AM, a college student's nightmare. My notes dated 9-11 were slightly sloppier than normal--as my eyes drooped my numbers looped, and grew fainter. About half way into the hour and fifteen minute lecture I looked into my backpack for my cell phone, which at the time served not only as a mode of commuication, but a watch. Drat. I'd fogotten it. When the dismissal bell reeled me out of my semi-sleeping state for good, I decided to use the fifteen minutes inbeteween class to run back to my dorm for my phone. "Scary that I feel so lost without it," I thought.
To my surprise, my roomate was not still buried under her covers with the shades pulled tight.
"Abby, look," and she pointed at the television. I'm not sure if I saw the planes crash into the towers live, or if it was a replay, but the attack had just happened. I sank onto the armrest of the couch and stared at the screen. They played the planes crashing into the Twin Towers over and over again. There were worse nightmare than 8:00AM classes, and this one was coming true.
I started dialing, but so did everyone else in Champain. I managed to get ahold of my brother, also a student on campus, who had watched the planes crash live on the big screen TV in the union.
"Have you talked to mom and dad," I asked?
"Not yet."
When I did get ahold of my parents, both school teachers who had spent the day trying to handle the crisis appropriately, I aske my Dad what to think, as at this point I was having difficulty doing so for myself.
He was amazing calm. No shouts for revenge, no hysteria. Of course he was horrifed, devestated, and bewildered, but not once did I see the intelligence I have always admired in him waver.
After a few days had passed, I continued talking to my Dad. He, just like the minister at my church (although we were not attending at the time I read a sermon she delivered later) believed that as a country we must foucs on answering questions such as why and how, instead of demands, such as get revenge, and fight back. The roots of terrorism are deep, and merely bombing Afganistan out of recognition would not solve the problem. My church is the Unitarian Universalist Society of Geneva, in IL, look it up--the sermon is on the site--it explains my feelings much better than I can.
The rest of the day is hard to remember. I do, however, remember a significant differnce in the way in which my professors handeled the attacks. In every class, studnets were trying to piece together the story, spreading rumors and quelling rumors simultaneoulsy. In my English class there was a fourth plane still in flight, in psych class the next target was Chapmagin, for intelligence reasons. In most classes my teachers decided that discussion about the attacks was more advantageous than lecture. These were true educators. In only one class were the attacks not even mentioned by the instructor. That hour and fifteen minutes were some of the longest of my life.
I did called my ex-boyfreind of four years.
"I love you," we said. I was not unlike the majority of the country, checking in on loved-ones and letting poeple know that I cared.
Campus was alive. Everyone was talking. I spent the night in deep conversation with my best freind, an exchange student from Australian. It was a frightening time to be so far from home.
When the newspapers and magazines began printing pictures, it was the ones of the people jumping out the windows that disturbed me the most. Recently, a fire-fighter who is a friend of mine showed me a picture of the truck he used after driving from IL to NY to help. In the dust someone had written "God Bless America." Nine months after the attacks, and my skin still crawled, my eyes watered.
I can only hope that the world finds peace. My thoughts go out to all of the victims of September 11th. That you, as indiviual, good poople should have to suffer truly saddens me. I can only hope, and as I get older and more informed, do, my best to aswer the question WHY, and with this answer hopefully we can put an end to this suffering in America, and around the world. Let there never again be such a nightmarish call to 911.
To my surprise, my roomate was not still buried under her covers with the shades pulled tight.
"Abby, look," and she pointed at the television. I'm not sure if I saw the planes crash into the towers live, or if it was a replay, but the attack had just happened. I sank onto the armrest of the couch and stared at the screen. They played the planes crashing into the Twin Towers over and over again. There were worse nightmare than 8:00AM classes, and this one was coming true.
I started dialing, but so did everyone else in Champain. I managed to get ahold of my brother, also a student on campus, who had watched the planes crash live on the big screen TV in the union.
"Have you talked to mom and dad," I asked?
"Not yet."
When I did get ahold of my parents, both school teachers who had spent the day trying to handle the crisis appropriately, I aske my Dad what to think, as at this point I was having difficulty doing so for myself.
He was amazing calm. No shouts for revenge, no hysteria. Of course he was horrifed, devestated, and bewildered, but not once did I see the intelligence I have always admired in him waver.
After a few days had passed, I continued talking to my Dad. He, just like the minister at my church (although we were not attending at the time I read a sermon she delivered later) believed that as a country we must foucs on answering questions such as why and how, instead of demands, such as get revenge, and fight back. The roots of terrorism are deep, and merely bombing Afganistan out of recognition would not solve the problem. My church is the Unitarian Universalist Society of Geneva, in IL, look it up--the sermon is on the site--it explains my feelings much better than I can.
The rest of the day is hard to remember. I do, however, remember a significant differnce in the way in which my professors handeled the attacks. In every class, studnets were trying to piece together the story, spreading rumors and quelling rumors simultaneoulsy. In my English class there was a fourth plane still in flight, in psych class the next target was Chapmagin, for intelligence reasons. In most classes my teachers decided that discussion about the attacks was more advantageous than lecture. These were true educators. In only one class were the attacks not even mentioned by the instructor. That hour and fifteen minutes were some of the longest of my life.
I did called my ex-boyfreind of four years.
"I love you," we said. I was not unlike the majority of the country, checking in on loved-ones and letting poeple know that I cared.
Campus was alive. Everyone was talking. I spent the night in deep conversation with my best freind, an exchange student from Australian. It was a frightening time to be so far from home.
When the newspapers and magazines began printing pictures, it was the ones of the people jumping out the windows that disturbed me the most. Recently, a fire-fighter who is a friend of mine showed me a picture of the truck he used after driving from IL to NY to help. In the dust someone had written "God Bless America." Nine months after the attacks, and my skin still crawled, my eyes watered.
I can only hope that the world finds peace. My thoughts go out to all of the victims of September 11th. That you, as indiviual, good poople should have to suffer truly saddens me. I can only hope, and as I get older and more informed, do, my best to aswer the question WHY, and with this answer hopefully we can put an end to this suffering in America, and around the world. Let there never again be such a nightmarish call to 911.
Collection
Citation
“story923.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed January 25, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/9421.