Today is the fun Friday A-Z blog hop day, except today is not fun. The letter of the week is R. Today, R could only stand for one thing – Remembering. Remembering this day fifty years ago. I feel privileged that I was alive fifty years ago and have real memories of this day. I was in sixth grade in Mrs. English’s class on the top floor of The Perth Central School which was really in Amsterdam NY since Perth didn’t have a post office. The wooden desks were in their five traditional rows. The blackboard was really black. Late afternoon sunlight was streaming in through the tall, energy deficient windows. I was staring at my Social Studies book, watching the flecks of dust twirl in the sunlight across my book as I thought about how much I hated answering the four questions at the end of the chapter “in a complete sentence”. I looked across to the row next to me and watched my future husband diligently writing away. Yes, I knew then that I was going to marry Richard Bartosik and right then I was figuring out a way to bug the hell out of him and relieve this awful boredom that settled over the classroom. Turns out I didn’t have to concoct a plan.
“May I have your attention please,” came over the loud speaker (our name for the PA system). “At this time I would like everyone to please stand. It has just come to our attention that the president of the United States of America has died after being shot in Dallas Texas. Please bow your heads in silence,” Click. Silence.
At ten years old I, along with my future husband and fellow classmates, in Perth NY, stood and stared at the brown and tan floor tiles for what seemed like hours. None of us dared move. Even our teacher stood, stunned, behind her desk in the front of the room. “Please be seated,” jolted us out of our stupor as the loud speaker began to speak once again, really loud. “At this time we would like all staff and students to gather their belongings and prepare for an early dismissal.” Click. We all sat down and began pulling books and notebooks out of desks. Mrs. English called us row by row to proceed to the coat closets to get what she called our “wraps”. Then we were called to line up by the door in the order that the buses would be leaving the lot. Some of us were trying to ask each other what was going on in a quiet whispers. I didn’t dare. Mrs. English said, “No talking.” I always listened when the teacher spoke for fear of “getting in trouble.” At this point in my life the most mortifying thing would be having my name “on the board” to miss recess.
We boarded the buses and even the “high schoolers” were subdued. There was no yelling and throwing paper wads on the bus that day. When the bus pulled up to my driveway I stepped off the high steps and walked down the the long car path leading to my house. Inside my mother and grandmother were sitting in front of the TV sobbing, wiping their eyes with white tissues. I sat down and sobbed , too, not really understanding the magnitude of what just happened. I just felt the terror of thinking “What happens now? Will we have a war? Are we going to be bombed?” I was too young to realize the disregard adults, parents and teachers alike, had for children’s fears and feelings back then. No one took time to talk to us and help us understand what was going on. We were children. Somehow we didn’t count as people yet because we were too small to understand anything, therefore we should “be seen and not heard.”
How different on the day in my classroom on September 11, 2001. This time I was the teacher. The announcement came to just me through a quiet phone call to my classroom phone. I carefully gathered my little charges on the carpet and explained to them that there was an accident involving two airplanes and some of their parents were coming to pick them up early. I assured them they were safe, here in our classroom. We were going to have playtime in inside today because the playground was closed. They were only five. They seemed happy with what I said, and the promise of toys and play reinstated their safety and insulated them, for the time being, from the vibes of fear that was permeating among the adults in the room.
It was that day I learned that children are people, too, and have to be considered in both bad times and good. You need to say something to them. I would never want a child in my care to feel the confusion, sadness, and fear I felt in my living room on this day fifty years ago. My friend, also a blogger, wrote about this day. In her post Remembering John F.Kennedy she said, “Then, two days after Kennedy was shot, Jack Ruby shot Oswald right there in front of us on live
TV, and in the chaos that ensued, I knew nothing would ever be the same.”
She certainly was right. From that day forward our world, as we grew up in it here in the US, was never the same. It was at that time we, at ten years old, learned there were things out there way bigger than us. It was then my Barbie doll began taking on new rolls in my play that stretched way beyond getting married and being a homemaker. I knew it was going to take a lot more to be a “mom” in my future world than it was that day for my mom in hers. She could be quiet and alone in her fear. My children would be brought up in a world where they will want to “know” and it was going to be up to me to tell them.
And so, as another day goes by, my thoughts go out to teachers in classrooms everywhere today where kids will be asking “What is this all about, a president getting shot?” and I pray God gives them the words to explain and alleviate the fears young minds can conjure up, and… I have written.
BTW…did you know…
I was 8 years old at the time and don’t recall having any trauma regarding the issue. I must have been well isolated, though I do have a poor memory. I remember where I lived and what school I went to- even my 8th birthday party that past February, but not anything to do with this incident.
I don’t remember that (just a bit too young) but it’s heart-wrenching. I’ve often heard it referred to as the day America lost its innocence. Thanks for sharing.
Riveting post. Thanks for sharing this with us. I was two when it happened so I don’t remember. But I feel like I do because of all the films I’ve seen. As for Sept. 11, I’m so glad teachers are kinder and gentler now. They sure weren’t when I was growing up. Fantastic post.