I always post some sort of unnecessarily frustrated rant on 9/11 (or the day before), so if you'll indulge me for a little bit...
It always irks me that people try to force you to remember 9/11, like it's something you'll easily forget. Every year like clockwork, people crack out and dust off the cheesy photoshops of crying bald eagles, shitty .GIF images of sparkly Twin Towers surrounded by little ribbons, and really bad YouTube videos playing that damn "I'll be your heeeeeeeero baaaaby" song by Enrique Iglesias or that song by Enya I can't remember (whew).
I know I'm "young" compared to many of you reading this, but I was on the tail-end of kids old enough to remember the attacks firsthand. I can understand wanting to teach the younger generations how to think about the attacks, but if you were, say, 8 years old or older that day, I don't really think it's necessary to shove your kitcshy 25 minute long audio montages down everyone's throats whether they like it or not. (Here's looking at you, every goddamn radio station playing on the bus for the next 60 hours).
It's gone from a simple remembrance to almost this sick obsession with needing to feel sad every time the middle of September rolls around. It gets old. Don't get me wrong, though. 3000 people died that day, and it was arguably the most tragic day in American history. Those who remember that day will not be able to forget it, nor will we be able to shake the sadness of watching three fucking thousand people die live on national television. That's something that sticks with you.
But I do remember. I was 10 years old. I grew up 15 miles outside of Washington DC. I remember the police officers at the school that morning freaking out around 9:00 AM, the time we realized it was an attack. I remember the school going under lockdown after the plane hit the Pentagon. I remember all of us knowing that something was wrong, but the teacher wasn't allowed to say a word to us. I remember the principal making a really long announcement at the end of the school day, telling us how there had been an "accident in Washington DC, all of your parents are okay, and if you go home alone, please stay with a trusted neighbor until your parents eventually get home." I remember getting scared when I saw my mom standing there at the end of the day, when she was supposed to be at work. I remember her getting choked up telling me what happened, and me not understanding (I had no idea what the WTC was).
I remember turning on the TV when we got home, and the first thing on the TV was the "beeeohhhweeeeoop" sound of those PASS devices firefighters use. I remember the fighter jets flying overhead constantly for days and days after the attacks. I remember the very noticeable lack of airplanes flying overhead on their way to National and Dulles Airports. I remember the incredible level of fear, not knowing what would happen next or if we were just far enough away from DC not to die if something more catastrophic happened. I remember school being cancelled on 9/12 because so many people in our county lost loved ones that day. I remember our neighbor being scared to tears because her Army husband was suddenly called to duty, not knowing what was next. I remember the (sort of silly, in hindsight) panic in our school the first time a plane flew overhead on 9/13 when they reopened the airspace and the first planes started flying back into Washington Dulles.
I remember watching cartoons that morning, then going home and watching the news for the next 11 years. Not many people can trace their obsession with news and politics down to an exact time, but for me, it was about 3:30 PM on 9/11. That was about the point when I became a ball of anxiety and a large part of my childhood ended.
I recently took a semester-long class devoted entirely to the events leading up to, the carrying out of, and the aftermath resulting from the attacks on that day. I know every minute detail of al-Qaeda and bin Laden and the attacks and the resulting wars.
Everyone will remember it in their own way, but don't help it become another robotic, commercialized day designed for TV ratings and silly overphotoshopped images.
Rant off. Murka, fuck yeah.