Pittston Dispatch // PD Columnists // Haley Taffera - Haley's Comment

Sunday September 13, 2009 | 01:00 AM

In high school, there are never really any surprises. You can always tell when a friend is mad at you, who has a crush on who, what classes are going to be easiest/hardest, and where you will sit in class.

I always sat in the back of the classroom. Alphabetically, I was placed in the seat furthest away from the door, the blackboard, the teacher, and most of my friends. My junior year of high school, however, I sat in the seat closest to the television that was used to watch news reports in my second period Sociology class with Mr. Dembowski.

It was the beginning of the school year, and we were all still getting used to the routine of new teachers, new classes, and new drama. It was early in the school day, about 8:45 a.m., when we took our seats in Sociology and prepared for another lecture. About ten minutes into class, Mr. Dembowski’s classroom phone rang.

He had a brief conversation under muted breath, his eyebrows pulled together and his mouth fell open, and then he hung up. Mr. Dembowski turned towards his classroom full of sleepy, bored children and struggled for a moment with what to say. Finally, he told us to remember the day, the hour, and where we were.

Then he turned the television on.

I remember staring at the TV screen in muted horror. I didn’t really understand what was happening or how to feel, but I did know that one of the World Trade Center’s towers in New York City was on fire and that the reporter looked terrified. Twenty some odd children looked on from the safety of a classroom hours away from the big city as another plane crashed into the South Tower and people ran screaming from the buildings.

What I don’t remember of that morning are the questions that I and my fellow classmates asked Mr. Dembowski, but I know that we had plenty. Some of us were crying while others were too scared and confused to do anything but stare at the TV. One girl asked to go to the office to call her mother because her father worked in New York City. Another girl looked on as her birthday, September 11, turned into a cold, scary day.

All day long we shuffled from one classroom to the other, turning on television sets and watching as life as we knew it changed. We watched horror unfold as buildings crumbled, planes fell out of the sky, lives were taken, and innocence was lost. Terrorists were attacking the United States of America.

It’s been eight years since that day, and while I’m still not sure what to think, I do know that I feel sad, mad, and irrevocably altered. I know that our country as a collective whole saw evil, unimaginable destruction, and overwhelming loss of life in just a few brief moments.

And for as brief as those moments were in all actuality, they felt like a lifetime.

That lifetime has drug on now for eight long years as America has watched life stand still, shatter, and move on. We’ve watched as war was declared, begun, and continue on to this day. We’ve watched an economy hold steady and then plummet drastically into recession. We’ve watched opportunity and jobs dwindle but hope and values flourish. We’ve watched a new mentality, a new idea of patriotism, security, honor, and enemy and ally take shape.

September 11 will forever be a day of remembrance for America, a day for reflection of its historical and emotional significance. It is a day to focus on the substantial lessons learned and the importance and value of love.

I don’t believe I’m alone when I say that there is no better way to pay tribute to the thousands of lives lost and the millions of individuals who rose in spontaneous, compassionate, and effective service than to help rebuild our spirit and our nation.

Millions of people throughout our country and around the world have donated time and energy, money and clothing, food and possessions, blood, sweat, and tears to help rebuild the lives of others in need since September 11, 2001. Our country has never and will never falter in continuing to assist, pay tribute to, celebrate and honor 9/11 victims, survivors, their families, and volunteer organizations.

Just like Mr. Dembowski said, I will never forget second period Sociology class. I will never forget witnessing America rise through the ashes in the wake of remarkable devastation. I will never forget those who gave their lives that day so that I, so that we, could carry on with ours.

Thank you, America, for teaching me such remarkable strength.