Jackie dropped her 6th graders at my music room door.
“A plane has hit the Twin Towers and the Pentagon. They’re burning to the ground.”
“How is that possible? They’re in New York and DC.”
“I don’t know. But it’s all falling apart.”
A student stared at me with wide eyes: “My dad is in New York. He said he was going to visit the Twin Towers to look above the city.”
I hugged her and prayed. I did not care the rules of public school teachers.
The rest of the day was keeping TVs off and singing with children. Singing and teaching and crying when the students weren’t looking. We found out the dad was safe. We waved goodbye to busses full of students whose lives would be forever different.
Two days before that beautiful Tuesday, we welcomed a British student for the year. Those first jet-lagged days he spent watching the news with us while we mourned and prayed and said, “It’s not like this.”
19 years after this cultural trauma. So much has changed. And still what comes back…
Hugging a student and praying.