Jennifer Carollo Fischer

jfischer@cherryroad.com

Time stood still at 8:46 a.m. on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, and I can still remember every single moment that followed. The sky was clear and blue that morning. It was the first year of my teaching career, my fifth day to be exact. I was just out of college, still living with my parents in a NYC suburb, and was as bright-eyed and optimistic as they come. I was ready to make a difference and to change the world, one child at a time. I had spent years preparing for this moment, proud and overjoyed to finally be a teacher.

On the morning of the attacks, all was calm at my school. Ironic and eerie to this day, my class was in the cafeteria where the local fire department was visiting to talk about safety. Ten minutes into the assembly, my mentor teacher whispered in my ear that something was wrong. I don’t think anything she said registered until I took my break the following period and headed to the teacher’s lounge. It was there that I found other teachers crying as they huddled around the small television set. Cell phones, way more basic at that time, were not working from an overload of usage. I scrambled to call my own family as parents began to arrive at the school, located only 45 minutes from Lower Manhattan. I remember a blur of confusion, fear and sadness. So many members of the community where I worked and lived had ties to NYC. Parents of my students were employed there, and some of my own friends were living there. My younger sister, who was in fashion school at the time, was there that day as well.

I remember my principal calling an emergency meeting, sending coverage to classrooms for a few minutes to remind us to keep the day “normal” as they gathered more information as to what was transpiring. It was my job, as a young teacher to protect my students and to shield them from the horrors that were unfolding less than an hour away. I had students called down to the office to go home. I spent my lunch break in front of the television. My cognizance of what had happened and the magnitude of death and destruction was still unclear. Yet all the while I kept a brave, smiling face. I was a child myself, responsible for the children in my class who had no idea what was going on beyond my classroom doors. The day was chaotic and tense. At 3 pm, I realized that I could not even get home, as all bridges and roads I needed were closed. There was a thick and heavy darkness in the air as smoke and residue had begun to move across the water and into the surrounding towns.

In the days and weeks that followed, parents did not send their children to school out of fear, while others sent them for a distraction. Some parents were missing and unaccounted for, as many worked in New York. My students had so many questions. I wanted so badly to scoop them all up, and to tell them it was a bad dream. They had such wonder in their eyes. I will never forget how strongly I wanted to keep them in a bubble of safety. It was a strange way to start my career. I felt an overwhelming responsibility to care for my students, while the world stood still all around us. We rallied together for the months that followed. I was so proud of my school and the community that gathered to help in even the smallest ways. We collected food, supplies, and money and gave our support to those who needed it. Kindness was ubiquitous, as we gave to strangers, without a second thought, and offered grace to one another. The world, it seemed, was doing the same.

I remember every student from my class that year. They played an impactful part in my story, and I hopefully did the same in theirs. Learning was an act of community, and we found small victories in being and working together amid our collective grief and uncertainty.

It’s been 24 years since that time, and while I no longer teach, 9/11 was pivotal in making me a teacher, a leader and a nurturer. It taught me, and so many others, strength in adversity and fear. It kept me focused on my students and our future, and it continued for every year that followed. We saw history unfold before our eyes on that day, and while children today have no physical memory of it, those events shaped the world we live in. September 11th has since been named “Patriot Day”. It is a day to remember all those who were so senselessly lost. Flags are set to half-staff, and many take a moment of silence twice to honor the heroes and victims of a day that will never be forgotten.

Today, there are many valuable lessons that can be taught from an abundance of resources available. At any age level, September 11th can be a catalyst for conversation, growth, and emotion. It is my hope that my own young children will one day understand the true meaning of this anniversary, more so with each year that passes.

“We all have a duty to devote at least a small portion of our daily lives to ensuring that neither America nor the World ever forgets September 11th.”- Sen. B. Frist

Author’s note- I reread and resubmit this for publishing every year. And while more than two decades have passed, each memory and emotion are still as poignant and clear as they were on that day. May we never forget all who were lost and how we came together as a nation in the days and weeks that followed.