Patinated Ponies
This is the place where I put my favorite photos that I've taken, and thoughts that I've... thought. Rarely will I reblog, but if a photo or quote is so inspiring, it may find its way on here.
"Patina" is my favorite word, and I, um, really like ponies. I might be five, I might be twenty.
Feel free to email me at: skp5n at virginia dot edu
On Remembrance
I was in my eighth grade Latin class. I went to school in Alexandria, and, believe it or not, we heard the plane crash into the Pentagon. Shortly thereafter, we were all called into the gym, and were told that a plane had just hit the Twin Towers. We went back to class. We didn’t know what any of it meant. After a second plane hit in New York, we were called back to the gym again, and told that we were going into lockdown, and that we’d need to call our parents and have them pick us up. We were told we might have to wait quite a long time for them to get to us.
We went to the ground floor of the school, and sat in the hallways. Kids were crying.
This is the part of my September 11 story that I haven’t told anyone, but I think it’s really shaped the way I see the day even now. There were a lot of crying people. Kids whose parents worked at the Pentagon, and kids who were just scared. And I was scared, don’t get me wrong, but I wasn’t compelled to cry. I had family in New York, but on Long Island. My father worked in DC, but nowhere near the Pentagon. And I felt that crying would make me some kind of phony. So I sat in the hallway, afraid, but very aware about how genuine I believed my own personal fear was or wasn’t. I sat, and waited for Mrs. K to pick me and another kid from my neighborhood up. I sat, and read a book, and hoped that we weren’t entering World War III.
Ten years later, I don’t feel exactly the same way. I still wasn’t affected directly by that tragic day, and I still don’t even think I know someone who knew someone who died. I’ve heard of a lot of near-misses, near-tragedies, but no direct losses. I still think a lot of the memorials and the Facebook posts are a little disingenuous, and I don’t want to make my remembrance overdramatic or too public (irony acknowledged, but really, this blog is mostly for me). But at the same time, I do now see that, as an American, I’m not as unaffected as I thought I was when I was sitting in the hallway of my middle school.
I don’t really believe in god, and I certainly don’t pray. But I can say that I’m sorry that so many people, good and bad, died on this day ten years ago. That so many people died and continue to die because of hatred, and that so many, nevertheless, continue to hate their perceived enemy. I’m sorry that it happened, but I also acknowledge that I’m very lucky that this is all I feel about September 11th.
