Nine Eleven + Twenty

I was teaching English to a class of 12th graders on the morning of September 11, 2001. My school, Bethesda-Chevy Chase, was a community crossroad of sorts. Located just outside the District of Columbia, its student body was a mixture of genders, races, cultures, languages, and economic status. There were rich (mostly white) kids from the affluent neighborhoods that surround the school, as well as not-rich (mostly black and latino) kids from neighborhoods a few blocks to the east. Then there were kids from all parts of the world whose parents were journalists, World Bank people, or who had other positions that drew them to Washington. On September 11, my class was representative of all these types. After the bell rang at 7:30, signalling the beginning of the school day, the Pledge of Allegiance came on over the loud speaker. As usual, about half of the students stood. We teachers had long since concluded that it was their right to stand or not stand, as long as no one talked or otherwise disturbed the class while the Pledge was being read. When class was over another teacher came running into the classroom. "Have you heard the news?" she asked breathlessly. "A plane hit the World Trade Center." I pictured a small plane, piloted by a novice, swerving into one of the towers creating a small dent. Later, of course, the full story emerged including the attack on the Pentagon. Some of our students had parents who worked there. There was no school the next day. On Thursday when we returned, every student stood for the Pledge.