Friday, August 2, 2019
Patterns for College Writing Essay
           I spent the night before contemplating how I was going to get out of school on Thursday. There was a social studies test I didn’t study for and I just could not bare another day of dodge ball. On the morning of September 11, 2001 I woke up â€Å"sick†. I pleaded with my mother, and took a fake trip to the bathroom because I was going to â€Å"vomit†. Finally, I was allowed to stay home. At 6:00 am, I was ordered to go back to sleep and I did. I looked forward to my day alone as I lingered between sleeping and waking pondering how I was going to fill my day with – snacks, computer games, and loud music. September 11, 2001 began as a childhood scheme and it ended with me growing up.            I dozed much of the morning and awoke to the sound of my brother’s radio alarm going off. It was Thursday and he shouldn’t be home. I pouted as I slowly got out of bed to see if I was truly alone. I walked down the hall and stopped briefly at the bathroom and then into my brother’s room. He was gone, and the alarm had been set wrong. The people on the radio droned on and on. I wandered around the room hoping to find a magazine that I let brat borrow weeks ago. As I was on my knees peaking under the bed the words on the radio became clear. I heard the word â€Å"terrorists†and the fragments of statements like â€Å"hundreds died this morning when†. Then, I could only hear my heart beat in my ears.  I got to my feet and for the first time since being a child, I felt real panic. The sort of panic you feel when you are four and you have wandered away from your parents. Once I caught my breath I made my way to the family room, frantically searching for the remote. I turned on the television to MSNBC and the first image I saw was a man jumping from a broken window of one of the twin towers. I was baffled and this would be the image that would haunt my dreams, my waking memories, and what it meant to be an American.            I heard the details over and over again. The errorists had hijacked three planes and deliberately crashed them into the Pentagon and the Twin Towers. The video clips played again and again on the news. The smoke filled horizons around the crumbling buildings. Paper was flying everywhere and the sound of heart broken people wailing in the background filled the screen. I stared and there were moments where I thought it might be a movie and all I had to do was change the channel. The phone must of rang a dozen times before I answered it It was my mother on the other end, asking me again and again if I was ok.  She told me she would be home soon. I waited, though I did not know for what, and watched. The Towers were now in flames as the reporters spoke in what seem like whispers. Their words almost silenced but the sound of a city slowly dying.            I remember hearing the back door open and close, and my mother sitting down next to me. It was the first time since I was a child that she held my hand and I let her. Stunned, we sat together as the news reported that at 8:40 am the terrorists crashed planes into the World Trade Center. It was hard to comprehend. My mother cried and I cried too except on the inside. I watched her body shake as she twisted her ring around and around her finger. My mother, who could out talk just about everyone we knew, was speechless. It was then that I understood – she was scared too. I hugged my mother and told her everything would be all right. I told her we would be safe and that we had each other. I made us coffee and we spent much of the afternoon talking about what happened, what could happen, and what we would do. What we spoke about most was â€Å"why†. Why did the terrorists hate Americ a? Why did people kill other people for no apparent reason? Comforting my mother in the ways she had comforted me for so many years, came unexpectedly to me.            Over the next few months we followed the story as did the world. I can remember President Bush attempting to comfort the United States and telling us America would be going to war for reasons that weren’t clear to me then and certainly aren’t clear to me now. Suddenly video games and staying home from school just weren’t important anymore. Dodge ball did not seem so bad. Instead of hiding from my parents I sought them out, wanting to discuss my day and theirs together. I do not believe what does not kill us makes us stronger. However, I think that what does not kill us makes truly value what we have in life and to realize how much our family and friends mean to us.            My family and I became very active in volunteer activities especially with the Red Cross. We donated bottled water, clothing, blankets, and food. Our community held local charity events to raise money for the victims of September 11 including those firemen and police officers who gave their lives in the fires of 9/11. It was the first time I or my family had ever become involved in activities that did not directly benefits ourselves. The sense of community and patriotism that was built in the months following the terrorists attacks still exists with me today. We now volunteer regularly as a family for a number of charities. Through the destruction of the Twin Towers, I finally understood my place and role in society. Not as a bystander but an active and willing participant.            On September 11, 2001 many people lost their lives and I gained my independence from childhood fantasies. Before that Thursday in September, I never thought about life and death. I never considered the consequences of war and the denial of freedoms. Now that I am older, I realize that September 11, 2001 was not just pivotal point for me but America itself. Not since Pearl Harbor had the United States been unexpectedly attacked on it’s own land.  Just as families pulled together so did the United States as a whole.  We cried together and we healed together.  To actually witness the attacks was life changing but to be part of the healing process was life affirming. Bibliograhy Berne, S. (2004). Ground Zero. In S. Mandell, and Kirszner, L. (Eds.), Patterns for College Writing: A            Rhetorical Reader and Guide (pp. 158-161). New York, NY: St. Martin’s Press.
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