Home?
My 9/11 Story
Picture it, Hampton, Virginia 2001. A scared little girl, fully believing she was grown and ready to take on the world living just under 1,000 miles from the only home she’d ever known – a home she’d never return to. And, the country she thought she loved and understood was about to be forever altered.
After graduating high school in May 2001, I could not wait, and I did not wait to rush off to college in June. I attended the Pre-College program at the Hampton University. I had one of the best times of my life. I got to jump start my collegiate career. Pre-College gave me the exact “A Different World” Black college vibe I was hoping for when I chose My Home by the Sea. I saw greeks running the yard and I watched, and hoped in awe; I had inspiring professors who looked like me; I lived in a dorm full of Black Girl Magic and a constant fashion show of early 2000s garb and hairstyles; I missed curfew and watched others from my dorm room window have fun in the late summer sun; I attended my first party so good the walls were sweating – and I also joined the campus gospel choir, because balance; I attended an interest meeting in preparation to join my beloved Marching F.O.R.C.E. and I met new friends, who are now bona fide family. I even fell in love, a couple of times…and I walked the beautifully infamous Hampton waterfront. What a time.
After the six weeks of Pre-College I returned home to the St. Louis suburb, not far from “Ferguson,” where I’d lived pretty much my entire life. This was the last time I’d ever set foot in that home. This was the last time the world as I knew it would exist. When I packed to return to college, I packed up forever — as I was off to pursue higher learning, my parents were relocating to Texas.
I traveled on a plane with ALL of the things to Hampton a few weeks later ahead of the school year to begin band camp. Round trip American Airlines (newly formerly TWA) plane tickets from STL > ORF (PHF was not developed enough to be a real option in those days) were around $200 tops. Checkin was nothing I remember being lengthy or in-depth or stressful. And, my parents walked me to my gate and they watched as the plane took off….
As band camp began and Hampton’s campus began to fill with upperclassmen and the full swing of fall semester activity, my culture shock started to take full effect. SO many people were from the east coast, largely NY and DC/DMV. They spoke, acted, ate, danced, dressed and listened to music so very different than what I was used to in Missouri. It was at that time I learned that Black people are FAR from monolithic. At the same time and in conjunction with, as a textbook introvert at a full campus outside of the Pre-College microcosm, I began to feel unsure. What was life? Who was I?
Then, Aaliyah died. I was only a casual fan of her music, but her cultural impact, for Black Xennials such as myself, was undeniable. This just added to all of the uncertainty.
Then, coming out of volleyball gym class one morning, people on campus were strangely frantic. Someone — I don’t remember who, ran up to me and asked if I heard what happened in NY. I hadn’t (just got out of class and smartphones were not yet a thing). “Someone blew up the World Trade Center,” they said. “What?,” I said. “I don’t know, it’s crazy yo,” they said as they ran off. In those initial moments I shrugged it off as this wasn’t the first WTC attack and all things NY were so far removed for me. I returned to my dorm room and turned on The TODAY Show as a budding j-school student to get some background. Most still got their news from legacy media during this era, especially during a crisis. “Breaking news” still happened on television. I watched Katie Couric and her co-host…report live as the second tower was hit. What also hit was the feeling of doom.
Were we at war? How do I get to my parents, now living just under 1,400 miles away? Was I in danger (surrounded my military bases)? WHAT IS HAPPENING??? I packed a small bag in case I needed to evacuate or escape and I called my parents to let them know I was physically safe.
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Then, shortly after the second plane hit and the stories from PA and DC started to travel I began to hear screams and cries throughout the dorm. I grew up really quick in that moment. It clicked that for so many of the DC/DMV, PA, and NYers I was growing to know — this was personal. They could not reach their parents and other loved ones. I tried my best to empathize with their fear and just, be there. That’s all any of us could really do — just sit, just be, just wait, and watch as our lives got flipped, turned upside down.
In the aftermath, the new “normal” included Black Hawks flying over band practice and a generally somber mood. I’m sure there were university counseling services available, but I don’t remember hearing about a one — so very different than the widely published mental health options of today.
My first ever visit to NY was late September 2001. As our band bus drove near the city, there was still a fog of dark smoke. I again felt lost and terrified. As the Hampton and Virginia State played the first post-9/11 game in Giants Stadium, the mood during our joint field show in support of the nation was a mix of pride, fear, respect, sadness, and and solidarity I had never experienced before nor since.
My first trip “home” from college in November 2001, to a house and state I had never been to, was even more traumatic due to the large dogs and military presence and processes at the airport.
The course of my life, much like that of the nation took a permanent detour. This wasn’t necessarily something that didn’t allow for many points of light along the way — but it was indeed a detour. Personally, my career goals changed, purely out of fear. And, for many years after that infamous day 20 years ago, again much like the nation, my decision-making was detrimentally fear-based.
Every person in America who was alive and able to comprehend the events during 9/11 has a story. Our physical and emotional sense of “home” shaken in unforgettable ways. Mine is not a tragic one, but a highly personally impactful one it is. It is the story of a girl part of a (micro) generation who was in elementary school for the fall of the Berlin Wall, high school during Columbine, college during 9/11, entering the workforce during a great recession, and raising children during a pandemic…just to name a few life-changing occurrences. It matters.
Continuous love and light to the victims’ families, and to the first responders and soldiers who risked their lives on the front lines.
This is our home.
Onward.
