25 years after 9/11 – a reflection from Northern Virginia

There’s something about memories, dreams, and nightmares which always stay with me. I rarely remember the details of who said what, but I never forget how I felt. Beyond the feelings, there’s something about colors, they’re more vivid, almost unreal.

Looking back on 9/11 as a schoolchild in McLean, Virginia, mere miles from the Pentagon, I cannot really describe to you in words just how blue the sky was that morning as I was heading to school. Imagine the perfect fall day: warm but bordering on cool, a slight breeze, and a truly blue sky. That’s what I remember going to school that morning with a couple of friends and classmates. We were third and fourth graders enjoying our typical ride to school, laughing, talking about our lunch boxes, and wondering what we would play at recess.

This is where my memory shifts from that dream worthy blue sky to what others have told me the smoke looked like coming from what we would later learn was the attack on the Pentagon. That’s when this dream became a nightmare.

My school day was remarkably normal, my main recollection in retrospect was teachers being very quiet and rather down. We had a full school day because as I later found out, the school was uncertain if anyone had parents in the Pentagon, and did not know who would be picking up kids from school whose families may have been directly impacted by the attack.

When I got home later that day I remember getting a big hug from both of my parents. Generally speaking, this was rather normal as we’re quite open with our affection for one another in my family. That said, my parents held me a little longer and a little closer than would normally be the case, I just knew something was wrong.

During dinner, both of my parents did their best to explain the events of that day in the way an eight-year-old would understand.

"My parents held me a little longer and a little closer than would normally be the case"

"Some very bad people attacked us today," my Dad – a New Yorker – said calmly, quietly, steadying his voice, and wiping away tears. I had never seen my father cry before. "But we love you, and we’re going to be okay. Things will be sad for a bit, but we’re going to be okay," he said.

I still remember how tightly my Mom squeezed my hand in hers as my Dad spoke. "Vamos a estar bien, hijo mío," my mother, originally from Peru, said to me in Spanish, "We’re going to be fine, my son."

9/11 was an attack on the United States, but it hit particularly close to home for those of us living in New York, the Washington, D.C. area, and Pennsylvania. And it hit closest to home – directly home – for the families of the 2,977 people killed that day, including three Spaniards.

For me, to be an American is to be an optimist. Not always because we want to be optimistic, but because we have to be, it’s how we’re wired.

On 9/11, we had to dig deep for optimism. Symbols of American power, creativity, and ingenuity came crashing down, and the hopes, dreams, and aspirations of the 2,977 people murdered that day, were extinguished.

"For me, to be an American is to be an optimist. Not always because we want to be optimistic, but because we have to be"

But shortly after, on that terrible day, we then saw the best of America. First responders rushed in, many of whom saved countless lives before losing their own. Passengers on United Flight 93 attacked and overpowered the hijackers on their flight, and it is because of their courage that we aren’t sure what that flight’s intended target was, whether the U.S. Congress, the White House, or some other symbol of our country and our values. People donated blood in record numbers.

While 9/11 targeted the United States, at its core, it was an attack on ideas that go far beyond our shores. It was an attack on love, hope, and on dreams – and that’s why it failed.

When you lose someone, that doesn’t mean you stop loving them. As for hope, it’s infectious, and while the hopes of those who perished may have in some way ended, their hopes for a better world remain in the hearts of their loved ones to this day. And dreams are beautifully boundless, to the point they infiltrate our sleep, and inspire our days. The dreams of those who died live on in the lives of those they loved.

After the attacks that day, there was an editorial in the French newspaper Le Monde, which stated, "Nous sommes tous Américains," meaning, "We are all Americans."

Much has changed over the past 25 years, but the fact that this country, 250 years after its founding, remains a home to so many dreamers, innovators, and everyday people working towards a better tomorrow, confirms for me that the hijackers failed that day.

With that, please take a moment today to call someone you love and actually tell them you love them. And if you happen to walk by a first responder – a firefighter, a paramedic, a police officer – please take a moment to thank them for what they do.

Never forget.