The end of my Happy-go-lucky care free w

                This was one of those events in history when everyone remembers where they were when they heard about it. I can remember my dad and My Aunt Carol having a discussion about the Kennedy assassination and saying the same thing—it’s just not something you can forget. 

         Like that morning; it was the beginning of my sophomore year of high school, and you could almost smell the pencil shavings in the air. It was September, the beginning of another school year that was full of promising new experiences, new responsibilities, and (hopefully) more freedom. In my happy-go-lucky care free world, everyday really was a new day that brought new possibilities.

         I was just getting comfortable with the morning routine of stumbling out of bed, falling into clothes, and wolfing down some cereal. Then I would hop into my dad’s red Toyota truck with the matching red hatchback for my three minute ride to school. My dad would always switch on the radio so that we could hear the morning news—much to my displeasure. In my world, the news was boring. Who cared how the stock market was doing and how much traffic was on the freeway? It didn’t affect me. If I was lucky, a commercial would come on, and I could switch the radio to a local pop station for 30 seconds of musical bliss before my father would happily change it back to the news station.

         I had just shown my dad a short cut through a neighborhood complex, and as a bonus, we got to meet up with my new best friend Natsumi. She was Japanese, and I thought she had the most gorgeous shiny, strait black hair that I had ever seen in my life. I envied her hair so much because my hair was a big mess of frizzy curls that couldn’t be tamed for the life of me. As my dad and I came around the corner of our new shortcut to wait at a red light, there was Natsumi, waiting faithfully every day at that corner for me and my dad.

         Everyday my dad and I would chuckle amongst ourselves as Natsumi would scurry across the street to meet us. Every day it was the same thing: We would round the corner expectedly looking for Natsumi. Then we would exclaim excitedly, “There she is!” Chuckle chuckle. Scurry Scurry. Then came the task of getting Natsumi in the vehicle before the light changed. I would have to carefully time my dad’s full stop, so I could quickly hop out of the red truck while simultaneously letting the passenger seat back.  Then wait for Natsumi to scurry up into the tiny back set of my dad’s big red truck so that I could hop back in, and quickly pull the door shut behind me just in time for the light to turn green. Then off we would go to another happy-go-lucky care free day for me and my new best friend Natsumi.

         But for some reason that morning was different. That morning the sky was a gloomy gray, which was almost ominous, because I lived in San Diego, California, where the sun always shines. That morning, as soon as the radio was switched on it was clear that there would be no changing of channels to listen to 30 seconds of pop anytime soon. That morning we did not chuckle at Natsumi’s scampering. That morning was not another happy-go-lucky care free day in our world.

         The morning of September 11th 2001 we listened in pin-drop silence on our three minute journey to school. That day, I didn’t ask for a change of station, because I could tell, from my father’s body language that something about this morning was a little different. I could tell from the tight puckering of his lips, the straitening of his poster, and the cocking of his head toward the radio that something important was happening. I remember mimicking his spine striating, and ear cocking, thinking that this would help me hear what I was apparently missing. Something important was happening, though I couldn’t for the life of me tell you what, but I knew that it was important by the way he was acting. And if it is that important to get that kind of a reaction from my dad, than it was important enough for me to pay attention to it as well.

         Over the radio, they were talking about planes going into buildings. I remember thinking, “Well planes crash sometimes, sometimes they even crash into buildings, so what was so important about this plane crash?”  My dad turned up the radio, and the air of the truck seemed to rise with tension. I knew that there was more to the story that I wasn’t getting, some important piece of information that I hadn’t grasped yet.  Then my dad said with a heavy voice, “This is bad.” For the rest of my life, I will never forget the misery and grief that leaked into those three simple words, or the events that took place after.

         I sat in my dad’s big red truck trying to make since out of the words coming out of the radio. Just what was it that was so bad? I knew it was happening in New York City, but I just wasn’t grasping the seriousness of the situation. I didn’t understand what could have been so bad.

         I twisted around in my seat and raised my eyebrows at Natsumi, silently asking her if she knew what was going on, but from her wide eyes and puzzled expression I could tell she didn’t know anything more than I did. When my dad pulled up to school, and let us out like he did everyday, he didn’t wish us a good day like he usually did. Instead, he drove off in silence, still listening to the radio with the same silent intensity.

         We began walking toward campus, but instead of our usual chatter we walked in silence. When we arrived at the same place in the quad where all of our friends gathered every morning, we found it eerily empty. In fact, the whole campus seemed eerily empty of the usual hectic energy of students greeting each other for a new day. I knew we weren’t late, so where was everyone?

         Out of options and desperate for answers, we parted ways and walked to our first class for the day. There the answer to why the campus was empty became clear. My first period English class was full of students and dead silent when I walked in. That alone was odd enough, but to add to it, the TV was on and my fellow class mates were gathered around it, listening with the same eerie silence that had plagued me since my dad had switched on the radio that morning. On the screen that so aptly held my fellow students attention was the answer to my question.

         The World Trade Towers in New York City is where the planes had crashed. As if that wasn’t enough reason to cause terror, we learned that another plane had crashed into the pentagon as well. I joined my fellow students and found myself sucked into the drama of the events. Even our teacher was so engrossed in what was happening on the television that when the bell rang he didn’t even tell us to get to our assigned seats. Only when a commercial came on did he finally call for us to sit down so he could take attendance. But then the TV went back on. We didn’t get any English work done that day.

         The rest of the school day was the same. The five minutes between classes everyone would franticly question each other. Can you believe what’s happening? Did you hear about the fourth plane? Who do you think is doing this? Are we under attack? The building collapsed? How many people? Then we would sit down in our next class and wait while the teacher made feeble efforts to stick to the lesson plan for the day, only to end up turning on the television and letting us talk and listen as we watched one of the greatest tragedies the United States had ever witness unfold.

         A dreary gloom had settled over my school as we watched the South Tower collapse, and then the North. How could this happen? This is the United States! This kind of thing just didn’t happen here. Why would anyone want to do this to us? Everyone was shocked, panicked, and we wanted answers.

         How can I describe the total despair of that day? The complete loss, the heartfelt pain, the total anguish. It was like a veil had been lifted from our eyes, and we finally got our first glimpse of reality. The world is not fair, every day is not a good day, and the world isn’t filled with good people with good intentions. From the seniors that were going to enter the world of adult hood when they graduated in 2002, to the freshmen that still had four years to go until 2005. That day, our world was shattered. Gone was the bliss of ignorance, the innocence of youth, and the lighthearted outlook on life.

That day was the end of my happy-go-lucky care free world.

I think it was for a lot of people.