“Where were you on 9/11?”

Every year, that is the classic question posed by teachers across the country on the anniversary of the infamous day. The guaranteed conversation starter is so common that I’m beginning to think it’s part of some national curriculum or mandatory ritual. Every year without fail, one particularly sentimental neighbor, acquaintance, educator, you-name-it, will utter that predictable sentence with the occasional loving glance towards our great stars and stripes and every year, without fail, I produce a tale that only increases in grandiosity and infeasibility with time.

“I was climbing Mount St. Helen with my pet donkey when I saw the planes sweep overhead, and I swear, a sinking feeling in my stomach told me that something bad was coming.”

“I knew it had happened before it even happened. You see, Wanda, the old schizophrenic I visit at the local psych ward, had prophesied it days earlier and sure enough, right when the first plane hit, Wanda cried out in pain. It was like some crazy voodoo.”

The truth is, and I’m probably not the only one, I have no idea where I was on 9/11. I probably went to school, terrorized my brother, and ate all sorts of things I shouldn’t have, just like every other day- either way, I don’t remember. The most I can gather is that it was 1^st grade, and I probably didn’t fully understand anything going on.

I do, however, remember emptying out the coins in my Minnie Mouse purse (I’d been saving up for a CD Walkman) and placing them in a red, white and blue decorated jar for wounded firefighters. I remember bringing food and condolences to neighbors I’d never spoken to before, who lost someone in the wreckage. I remember, for the first time, feeling wholly and indisputably American. The only other time I ever felt part of a larger community and so close to the people around me, in a purely patriotic way, was after Hurricane Wilma.

It is perhaps a bit disconcerting to realize that the times when we are most unified as a nation is following great tragedy and natural disaster, but I prefer not to see it that way. Instead, people should look at September 11^th as an annual excuse to reach out to others, even if it is in just the slightest way and maybe, just maybe, if they get a kick from connecting with their fellow Americans, they’ll do it more often.