This essay was written a year ago and is not perfect: I have been told that the ending is too much of a "shock" and needs to be hinted at more throughout the essay. However, this essay is meant for this day in history.
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Sept. 11, 01: “Today will probably be in history books all
over the U.S. Four plains crashed, two in the World Trade Center in New York,
one right after each other. One in the Pentigon at the White House, and the
other in Pennsylvania. I heared the teroest put a gun by the pilates head and
told him he’d kill him if he didn’t crash were he told him to. The plain that
landed in Pennsylania they figure crashed because he didn’t want to crash were
the man told him. They don’t know who did it. 200 firemen were killed trying to
save people. Two inches of ash covered the ground by the World trade center.
Alot of people died. Isaiah 41:10 So do
not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will
straighten you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
The
alarm clock screams for me to wake up at 7:00 a.m. Bleary-eyed, I pull on my jeans and a shirt
bought from the end-of-summer sale at JC Penney. I yank the tangles out of my hair,
methodically brush my teeth, and throw a ham sandwich into my lunch pail. On my way past the computer desk, I glance at
a picture of a Chinese girl cut out of LifeLines
magazine that my parents taped up. I
snatch up my backpack from the floor and grab the last of my homework as I head
out the door. Today is just like any
other day, and my dad drives me to school at precisely 8:15.
I
arrive at Ebenezer before most of the other students; I put my homework in the
homework bin and place my books in my desk.
I hear the buses arrive, the hissing sound of the brakes being hit and
the bus settling back into its stopped position. The murmur of my classmates grows closer and
closer as they approach the door.
“Did
you hear? Did you hear? The twin towers were hit by planes just this
morning!” Everyone’s voices blend
together as the news bursts out. Being
sixth graders, the terrorist attack on America was the biggest news that had
come into our lives since Leroy kissed Becky behind the school. The attack of the World Trade Center would
overshadow all other events that occurred throughout the world that day, and we
were trying our hardest to comprehend the severity of the situation. But we were only sixth graders.
We
lived across the country from this horrendous act: all the violence and
devastation was out of our reach. How
does one comprehend the idea of an American trademark now crumbled to the
ground? The thousands of people
instantly killed? The impact on our
country? How were we to know that the
events of this day would affect the rest of our lives forever?
My
parents waited for my sisters and me at home after school that day, and
together we watched the news on TV. We
never watched the news in my household, but this day was special. We watched the replays of the planes crashing
into the towers dozens of times: it was almost as if the newscasters hoped that
if they played the scene over and over, the planes would not crash. Maybe one of these times, everything would
return to normal.
I
wrote a diary entry, my sixth-grade-mind trying as hard as it could to capture
this day on a piece of paper. I wrote
and wrote, and I brought my diary out of my room to my dad. “Does this sound okay?” I asked.
He
read it carefully, paying no attention to my spelling errors. As I knelt beside his chair waiting for him
to finish, he looked over at me and suggested that I add a Bible verse to the
end. He gently scratched his beard and
said to look up Isaiah 41:10.
I
hurried off to my room and added the verse.
Then, I shut my diary, took out the key, and locked it. September 11 would never again be just a day
in the beginning of September, and now, my memories of this day would forever
be sealed inside a locked book with bears having a tea party on the cover.
This
diary now sits inside a trunk alongside many other childhood memories. Knickknacks one of my aunts sent me from
around the world. Key chains from family
vacations to Yellowstone and the Oregon Coast.
A deck of Winnie-the-Pooh playing cards that were crinkled when a little
black-haired sister accidently spilt Ramen noodles on them. My diary got moved around in the shuffle over
the years, but I know it’s there in my trunk, safely stowing away my
memories. Someday, I will be able to
show it to my children and recollect the atrocities that occurred on September
11, atrocities that they too may have a hard time understanding, atrocities
that will be remembered in the hearts of Americans for years to come.
But
I can also tell my children that there is more to this day than the Twin Towers
falling to the ground – much, much more.
Incredibly,
September 11 will always hold a special place in my heart. Halfway across the world in the early morning
hours of this now revered day, one precious baby was left by her mother in
front of an orphanage in Ruijin, China.
The orphanage workers found her on their way into the building and took
her under their wings. Nine months
later, this little girl became my sister, Anna Rui Wen DeWaard. She stands in complete opposition to
everything September 11 embodies in America.
On this day of disaster, she stands as a miracle. She was abandoned by her mother for unknown
reasons, but this act of abandonment is what allowed her to transform my
family.
I
remember all the details of that September morning that should have been no
different than any other, but I also have the memory of my sister being left at
an orphanage gate, waiting for someone to take her in. I have the knowledge that in spite of the
horrors, God can also work miracles. “So
do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will
strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right
hand.”