Never Forget

I remember my mother standing on the front porch after sending my siblings off on the school bus.

I remember The Today Show on the TV in the living room. The Today Show was always on in the living room after my mother checked the weather on weekday mornings.

I remember my mother coming inside, standing there in shock as the report came in, and eventually sitting down on my dad's recliner.

I remember her shushing me, where I sat on that old red carpet, as the scene unfolded on live TV.

I remember being told so many times growing up that there's no way I could actually remember.

I remember all the times they said "never forget."

I remember watching footage annually as a child, from elementary school through high school graduation.

I remember moments of silence after morning announcements, timed to when the first plane hit.

I remember my ninth-grade English teacher telling us that she saw that plane that crashed in Pennsylvania still flying overhead when she was driving in Girard.

I remember going to the memorial and museum where that footage I watched so many times before is tucked away around corners, labeled with warnings of graphic content.

I remember thinking how messed up it was that they kept showing us those videos in class as kids.

I remember more than I should, so much that I don't know how many of these memories are genuinely mine.