Where Were You? There.

The top story on the morning shows before school was something about Michael Jordon.
It was second period geography.
My first period teacher interrupted class and said to turn on the news. “A plane hit the World Trade Center.”
I didn’t know what that was.
I saw the next plane hit.
I watched them cut to the explosion at the Pentagon. Kids beside me knelt on the ground and prayed.
Third period. Spanish. We were told to turn off the TVs and continue the school day as if nothing was happening.
Rumors came from students who could get in the office and pick up stories from the tv in the teachers lounge. The White House?. The Capitol? Some plane shot down in Pennsylvania?  
The buildings fell around 4 p.m.

They didn’t, really, but it took me years before I realized that. I just didn’t see the footage until after school, and my memory remembers it as live. Because I was there that day; I saw it, just like we all did.

Memory is imperfect. But we cherish it. It’s important that I remember where I was when I heard the news. “Where were you?” every year. “Where were you?” because it’s important to know you’re tied to this event too. It binds us. We were all there. We were all affected. We share this. “Where were you?” because not remembering seems impossible.

Boomers in school on Nov. 22, 1963.
Gen X in school on Jan. 28, 1986.
Millennials in school on Sept. 11, 2001.

Our generation defined by our school-age national tragedy. Our Americanness defined by our shared trauma. I wasn’t in New York or Washington. I wasn’t covered in dust and ash. I didn’t know anyone affected. I wasn’t worriedly calling loved ones. But I was there, with everyone, glued to the TVs, knowing our lives had shifted, but yet not sure how. I was a witness, from my small town and with my middle school understanding. Breaking news shifted from sports to geopolitical terrorism in a matter of minutes. Childhood was over. I was there. “Where were you?” I have an answer.

Collective memory binds us. To know we share a history defines a community. You show you belong to the group by acknowledging this shared memory, even if you weren’t actually there, even if you weren’t born. But you share the memory because the event is important, because it shapes the group you are a part of, and thus, it affects you. Yes, I saw the president shot. Yes, I saw shuttle explode. Yes, I saw the buildings fall. Yes, yes, I was there. Not physically, but as part of the group that was affected.

Throughout the liturgical year, we bare witness to Christ’s life. We proclaim the Incarnation, witness to God becoming man. We celebrate the Nativity, witness to His coming into the world. We join in the Last Supper, we walk to Calvary, we see the water and blood spill from His side, we feel the earth tremble as He gives up His spirit. We are witnesses of His sacrifice and victory. I was there on the hill. I was there at the tomb. I was there on the mountain top. I remember. I remember with you. Because it’s important to know you’re tied to this event too. It binds us. We were all there. We were all affected. We share this. “Where were you?” because not remembering seems impossible.