This is a story based on what happened to me on 9/11. As a teacher, I had to tell a group of sixth graders that I had only known for a few days about the terrorist attacks. It was not easy.

Some people would start off this story by telling you about what they heard on the radio when their alarm clock woke them up in the morning. Some would start this story off by telling you about the weather that morning. Some may even start off this story by recapping the discussion they had with a spouse or a loved one before they left for work. But to tell you the truth, I don’t remember what song was playing on the radio. I could only guess what the weather may have been that day. By no stretch of my imagination can I remember what I said to my wife before I left for work that day. I guess I can’t remember because up to that point it was a morning like any other. The day was September 11, 2001.

What I know for sure is that just like the days before I packed up my school bag and headed to work. At the time, I was teaching sixth grade in a southern New Jersey middle school. I had only been with my students for a few days and I was still getting to know their names. For the most part, they seemed like a nice group of kids and I was optimistic about my year with them.

I went into my classroom and began preparing for my lessons that day. At least I think I did because again, up to this point, it was just like any other day. Before the students arrived, my assistant, a wonderful woman who had a great deal of patience both with me, a second year teacher, and the kids, entered the classroom and we exchanged some pleasantries. I’m sure because that’s what we did everyday. This was just like any other day.

Several minutes later, the students arrived. Many of them were still excited because they finally left the dull and uninteresting elementary school and entered the exciting and vibrant middle school. For the first several minutes they fumbled with their lockers, tried to remember what to bring to class and probably talked to every other student in the hallway that would give them the time of day. As teachers, we all ushered them to homeroom and tried desperately not to lose our patience as we helped students open their lockers again. After three or four days we had all hoped the kids would remember their combinations but that did not happen. But again, I’m really not sure if that’s what happened because this day was still like any other day.

Lockers were closed. The late bell rang. Morning announcements were about to begin. First, students stood for the pledge. At the time it was just another routine act in another normal day. Little did I know that twenty-four hours later that very same act would practically bring tears to my eyes. Little did I know that twenty-fours later that very same act would take on a whole new meaning for my students and I. But alas, it was still just a routine act on a routine day. Today was just like any other day.

Homeroom ended and class began. I started my day with Math. I know I started with Math because somewhere, somebody did some study that said Math was best taught in the morning. That was always the reason I gave anyway. Actually, I taught it first thing in the morning because I hated Math as a student. I figured if I started their day with the subject they liked the least our day could only get better. So the Math lesson started. I don’t remember exactly what Math subject I was dealing with. It could have been fractions. It could have been multiplication. I just don’t remember because it was just like any other day.

Then it happened. About half way through the Math lesson, I realized I needed copies for my reading lesson. So, I turned to my assistant, who was a wonderfully patient woman, and asked if she could make some copies. She took my papers and cheerfully headed off to the main office. I remember that because when she returned it wasn’t like any other day.

She stood at the door mournfully and motioned for me to come out in the hallway. This was the first year her and I worked together so I really did not know her too well but I knew something was wrong.
“The twin towers are gone,” she said.
“The Pentagon was hit,” she said.
“We’re under attack,” she said.

I was completely in shock and did not know what to say. For a brief moment our conversation continued and she let me know that our administrators did not want the kids to be told yet. I headed back into the class and continued working with them. Inside, I was filled with rage, anger and fear. My first thoughts went out to my wife who worked in a school district about twenty minutes away. I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to be with her.

For the next part of the morning, things seemed to be a blur. I remembered trying to teach and not think about the horrible things happening in New York and D.C. Then another sixth grade teacher came to my door and whispered to me that I would have tell these twelve little sixth graders what was going on.

I walked back in the classroom and silenced the students. My momentary conversation was an obvious green light for them to talk. I did not know what to say. I did not know how to say it. Since I’m not the kind of person who sugarcoats anything, I just blurted it out.
“We’re under attack. The twin towers in New York are gone and the Pentagon has been hit,” I said as I fought back the tears. For the rest of the morning, I answered many questions the best way I could. As a teacher, that was probably the hardest thing I ever had to do. But I can tell you now, from that moment on, this was not like any other day.