September 11, 2001 is a tough day for a lot of folks. It has a special meaning for me as I am a retired firefighter. Three hundred forty-three of my brothers lost their lives that day. The story of where I was and what I was doing will be the topic of another post someday, but not today.
September tenth I was reviewing my lesson plans at the end of the day. It struck me that my students were only two years old when the planes went down. How could I help them understand? I recalled that I had spoken at a memorial service a year ago. In my speech, I paid tribute to the families and children of the fallen firefighters. I dug it out of my files.
The next morning, after the Pledge of Allegiance, I read it to my kids. I wept from beginning to end. I told them that as their teacher, I would keep them safe in my classroom. I told them that as a firefighter, my friends and I would teach them to be safe and that we would be there for them in an emergency. I showed them a book that had letters and pictures from children to the children of the firemen.
I could not tell if they understand my explanation. I gave them paper and colored pencils. They began to write. They began to draw. I sat at my desk and covered my eyes with my handkerchief. I sensed, I did not see the kids coming and going around me. No one said a word.
Time passed – twenty minutes or so. I opened my eyes. My desk was strewn with letters and pictures. My aide took the kids to P.E. I read the letters. I looked at the pictures. I wept again. I still weep when I think of them. I think I weep because of their loss of innocence, because of the expansive depths of their understanding, because of their compassion.
I have each of their letters and pictures. I know exactly what I will do with them. I will tell you next week.
Peace,
Rick
