Each of us remembers how our day began on September 11, 2001. My friend Carol who slept restlessly that morning, switched on her TV to see the World Trade Center on fire. She called. I turned on the news as the announcer tried to sort out what was happening. I watched the second plane hit Tower #2 and caught the word “terrorism.” Before I knew it, Tom Brokaw said that the Pentagon had been hit, and a plane had crashed in Pennsylvania. What was this? Armageddon?

I watched until the last possible second and then drove off to school. I did not want to go to work but knew that no substitutes would want to leave their houses either. I am from Long Island and had toasted friends in Windows of the World, a restaurant at the top of the World Trade Center. My best friend lived in Manhattan.

As I walked into my classroom and turned on the news, my students watched quietly and nervously. Then a timid freshman asked me, “Do you think they will bomb our airport?” Our school was right next to a small airport and though I smiled inside at her naiveté, I was struck by her fear.

I was stunned as I watched Tower #1 collapse. A student turned and asked if we could turn off the TV and “get to work.” I knew that my students needed me and our classroom routine to be as normal as possible.

Suddenly I had a flashback. It was 1963, and I was in a PE class taking a volleyball test. I was lying on the gym floor when the intercom came on. “We have an announcement to make. Our President, John F. Kennedy had been shot in Dallas, Texas. Please stay in your class until further notice.” We put down our pencils. Twenty minutes later the intercom clicked on. “We are sorry to inform you that our President is dead. Please report to your homeroom.”

I raced to my homeroom. My teacher was crying. My teacher was crying; she was not supposed to cry. I can still remember the insecurity and fear I felt watching my teacher fall apart.

With that clear image in mind, I smiled at my class on September 11, 2001, assured them we would all be okay and turned off the news. As I answered questions matter-of-factly for the rest of the day, my mind was racing worrying about the people in my hometown who commuted to Manhattan.

As I left the parking lot, the lump that had sat in my throat for hours caused large tears to seep out of my eyes. I smiled at a student who waved to me hoping he could not detect my anguish.  What a day it had been for me, our students and our nation. And it was just the beginning.