On that day, I opened the door to my third grade classroom having no idea that our country would be under attack within the hour.
On that day, I marked attendance, taking for granted that every child would be present that day and the next.
On that day, I watched as students unpacked their backpacks and got settled in, waiting for me to teach them lessons they needed to learn.
On that day, I discovered just how important it was to be their teacher.
They were seven and eight years old. They had no concept of terror other than the make-believe monsters that hid under their beds and the shadows that played tricks on them at night. They slept with their favorite stuffed animals and baby dolls and wrote stories about cats and dogs, flowers and friends.
Our day was blissfully normal in every way. In Tennessee, school had begun a few weeks before; we were still getting to know one another. A knock on my door changed everything.
“A plane just flew into the Twin Towers. It’s on TV, but don’t let your kids see.”
Minutes later, I took the students to their specials class, then raced back to my room to watch the events unfold in real-time horror.
Students returned to class and I had to continue teaching as if nothing had happened. How could I begin to explain that day when I didn’t even understand it myself?
All I could do was hug my students a little tighter, a little longer, reminding them how important they were to me. I told each and every student that I loved them.
It’s been 17 years since 9/11 and I remember it like it was yesterday.
And each year, I receive a message from one of those eight year olds who sat in my class that day.
“Hey, Mrs. Letter. I hope all is well for you. I just wanted to say that every year I remember that day and I remember the conversation we had on the reading mat in your room. I remember the questions we asked and the confusion we all had at what was happening and why those “bad guys” would do such a thing, etc. but I also remember feeling safe in your classroom. I always knew that as long as I was in your class (even from wasps… which you taught us how to ignore when they fly in the portable) and I knew I was loved. Pretty vivid memories for a third grader but that’s the impact you left on me and I thought I’d remind you!”
Some years the message sent is long; other years the message is short and sweet. But for one day of the year we are connected again, teacher and student, with a bond that will never be broken. I am reminded of the life-long impact we have on our students’ lives with our words and actions, even in those moments of unscripted conversations that are raw and real.
We keep our students safe.
We remind them they are loved.
We put on our battle armor and shield our students from a world that is complicated and cruel at times.
On that day, I decided evil would not win.
On that day, I discovered love was louder.