9/11

I was in middle school on the day of September Eleventh. Junior high. 8th grade if I remember right. It seems like a lifetime ago, and it really is. I was in art class with Mr. Kilbourn. He wore eyeglasses, had a beard and a bald head, and formidable eyebrows- he should have had an accent. The class was working on clay instruments or contuor sketches or something. Suddenly the high school counselor came into the room and clicks on the TV. I heard her mention a plane crash- or three of them. The Pentagron had already been hit; the news suspected their were more planes. At first I had a hard time understanding what was really happening. I couldn't picture a plane crashing into the Pentagon. It was unimaginable. The TV came on with the image of an airplane blasting into a building. I had never seen anything like it-- I remember wondering why it didn't come smashing out the other side. I thought about the Kamikazes in World War II; we had just learned about them in 7th grade. Maniacal crazies who are ready to die to for their country, and willing too-- the darkest kinds of loyalty and dedication. I tried to think of suspects, and I hated the figured blindly. They attacked America. Until that point, I pretty much thought no one really had any problems with America. It seemed like we were always the good guys- like heroes, I thought we couldn't be harmed. Yet there was a group out there that hated us so much, they went to great lengths just to kill civilians. What would the United States do in response? I'll admit I wanted war, but not a 7-years War, soon 8, then who knows? I guess it's good we haven't been attacked, but that doesn't exactly mean we're not losing. We're losing somewhere, but I suppose we're not lost. That was a lifetime ago, and the times- they are a'changin. That's right- CHANGE is coming; no Bush, no matter what. And there's only two months to go. Now is the age of change, and hope too. And perhaps this age can make the war-age a think of the past.