I am an American

I remember asking my grandmother where she was when the US dropped the first atomic bomb on Hiroshima. She had to think about it, and ended up telling she wasn't really sure. I was surprised, at the time, because it seemed to me like such a significant moment in history: everything changed. I'm a little older now, and I've come to two conclusions. The first is that even if you know at the time that an event is going to change everything, that doesn't mean it will stick to your memory. The second is this: I don't think anyone in Japan has forgotten where they were when they heard the news. I don't think you ever forget being the victim of an atrocity.

This post isn't about my life in China. This post is about being an American, on the tenth anniversary of September 11th. I could never have predicted, ten years ago, that I would be living in China on this date. I was 13 years old in 2001. On the eleventh of September, we had just started the school year. I was in eighth grade, in Reading class. I was sick: I had a cold, I shouldn't have gone to school. Our teacher was the assistant principal/ principal-in-training, and at 9:30 or so, the principal knocked on our door and held a whispered conversation with her. This was strange and unprecedented, and finally she turned around to us and told us that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. These where my first two thoughts: Who is stupid enough to flight a plane into a building? and Where's the World Trade Center? I thought it was an accident. A little later, they actually let us go down to the cafeteria, where they had brought out one of the tv's on a cart, and let us watch some of the news coverage. At this point, my mother (who is a teacher) arrived, and noticed that I was quite sick. She took me home (clearly, little curriculum was going to be covered that day) and settled me in on the couch, but my parents made me promise not to watch the news. This wasn't a problem, as I did nothing but sleep for the rest of the day.

This is the memory that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. But I also remember being angry at the sudden changes in the news, in the government, in the way people talked. Becoming a teenager is hard enough, but when your entire society is changing, too? It was aggravating. I remember, on the first anniversary, being annoyed that it was such a "big deal" still. I remember thinking that it was probably still going to be a huge thing on the tenth anniversary.

That's tomorrow. I like to think I'm a little less cynical, and a little more understanding, now. I'm ashamed enough of my attitude then that writing the paragraph above feels like confessing a sin. It is a big deal, still, because it was a big deal. This is our post-9/11 world, and in some ways, we'll always be defined by it, even if we could not have known how it would change us. I already feel defined by it, working as a teacher. My students are not really that much younger than me -- but they were not old enough to remember it. To them, already, it is just a moment in History, not a part of their own story.

That is why, I think, we need to pause tomorrow, and remember. We aren't just remembering those who were killed, or those whose bravery and courage made "doing their job" into heroism. We are remembering for those who do not remember, and for those who can't remember because they haven't even been born yet. History is just memory, so at the base of it all, we can't afford to forget. There are days, living in China, that I lie and say I am Canadian. It's easier than getting sucked into a conversation about trade, the economy, and government policy. But, tomorrow is not one of them. Tomorrow, I am an American.