One Morning in a Fifth Grade Classroom

The morning was off to a normal start. I mean in fifth grade, how strange can things get? Oh dear, Suzy said something a little nasty. Oh dear, now we have to create models of American Indian villages. Oh dear, there I go being a teacher's pet again. When Mrs. Scott turned on the television so we could all watch the breaking news that two planes had flown into the World Trade Center towers all I thought initially was, "Wait, what towers?" Having not been to New York City and having lived most of my life in a comfortable hole filled with young adult novels and school projects about wolves and who even knows what else, I suppose my ignorance was understandable. I was not an idiot of a fifth grader, however. I knew something bad was happening, something awful. I got an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach, as if I'd swallowed a rock. I think I started crying. The day gets a little hazy. We were all a lot quieter. 

My fifth grade classmates and I would get to know hardship a little better as the year progressed. That year was the first time I'd ever known someone who died of sickness. My class, dubbed the gifted and talented group, had been together since third grade. Sure, some had left and some had come, but we pretty much were with the same classmates for three years. So when Chris got cancer, it wasn't like, "Chris who?" We all thought it incredibly unfair for a person as young as Chris to die. And we were scared, too. We weren't any older.

In some ways, I feel like I'm not any older than I was eleven years ago when planes struck and towers fell. I guess I know a little bit more-- my school projects have gotten a little longer, I spend more time doing homework. But I still get that same confused, rock-in-my-gut feeling when something bad happens. I look at the death of another friend with the same reaction: how unfair for Logan to die at only 18. I still look at international crises and say, "Wait, what ____?" You fill in the blank. What terrorist group? What country? What rebellion? I'm still ignorant. I'm still a teacher's pet (I've just stopped handing out Snickers bars). I'm still wondering why people would willingly drive planes into skyscrapers. I'm still learning about what happened. And I'm still praying for peace.