September 11th Is Changing

It’s an odd thing to say, but September 11^th is bigger this year than it’s been the past few times around. It’s a milestone anniversary—the twentieth. It takes place on a weekend, free from work week distractions. It comes on the heels of our military exit from Afghanistan.

The last few years, 9/11 doesn’t seem to have been so firmly in our lens. It’s back in the focal point today. We’re thinking about September 11^th more. Or at least it feels that way.

When the attacks happened—in New York, in Washington, in the sky, the American sky, en route to American places, from Manhattan to the hills of Pennsylvania—they affected everybody. Life changed for everybody. We all saw it. We were all consumed by it, and understandably so. It was the most significant attack on the United States since Pearl Harbor. It was arguably the most significant attack on the United States ever. We were, for the first time in decades, under attack. And so while the events were bigger, obviously, for those who lost loved ones, for those in New York and in D.C., for so many others directly and tangentially affected, they weren’t small for anyone.

I was about to turn seven. It was second grade. My thoughts were consumed by it, not so much in a way of grief or fear as one of fascination. We were at war. I liked playing war. I wanted to fight. There was fear, too, of course, and sadness, but a lot of it was just fascination and the pretending of a child. What if Osama Bin Laden was found…on my elementary school’s playground??? What if I got to be the one who took Osama Bin Laden down? Such were my thoughts, falling asleep, briefly replacing things like, What if the Cubs call me up to pitch because Kerry Wood just got hurt?

It changed so much, then, everything did. Flying was different. Things like baseball games took on new significance. And again: We were at war.

The more unifying aspects faded over time, as should be expected. Some of the patriotic things probably linger—I was too young to know now what things looked like patriotism-wise on September 10^th, but I’m curious if certain strands of it that are now an industry were an industry back before the attacks. But the more unifying aspects faded, and everything else became just what it was. I’m right around the border of those with any recollection of it. For those younger than me, airport security was always what it is. For those younger than me, we were always at war. An eighth-grader told me this week that he learned about the Taliban from a documentary. There’s a generational divide.

For a long time, it felt clear what to do on 9/11—grieve, remember, repeat. Now, though, it’s more complicated. There are more things to grieve. There are more things to remember. The effects crackled outwards, and the historic context became more defined. 9/11 transitioned, like all history, into part of the tapestry. It became less of a singular event. Our understanding changed, and it continues to change, and it changes differently depending how we were affected.

We still grieve. We still remember. But there’s a natural fading over time. When the attacks happened, they affected everybody. In a sense, they still do, but it’s not the same. There are thousands who lost loved ones that day, or who narrowly avoided death themselves. There are thousands more who lost loved ones in the conflict that followed, and thousands upon thousands more who served in the conflict that followed. But for those of us not in those categories, those of us who live and lived far from the Pentagon and Lower Manhattan, it looks more like Pearl Harbor than it used to—an historic event, a tragic event, but an event separate from us in a way it did not used to be.

What, then, is 9/11 now? What is 9/11 to a college student? What is 9/11 to a child? And what is 9/11 to those of us who were not there, who were just six years old, who were tying our shoes for school when our mom got a call to turn on the television?

I’m not sure I know. But I think it’s ok for it to become more historic. For it to become something more in the past. There’s room for that. There’s room, too, of course, for the ceremonies, and there are again thousands upon thousands directly affected for whom today will always be a day of immense grief. That will persist, and that should persist. There is plenty of grief to be grieved.

But it’s ok, too, for it to fade a bit. That’s how history works. At some point, for many of us, demonstrative remembrances would be just that: demonstrative. They’d be performative. In some ways, some already are.

So the struggle, then, will be remembering in a way that is authentic. Remembering in a way that is genuine. Remembering not only for remembering’s sake, but for the sake of the things that make it important to remember.

September 11^th is bigger this year. It’ll be big again in five years, too. In the in-betweens, it will always be more than just a date. But in those in-betweens, and on the big ones too, it’s important to ask why we do the things we do. And to learn from the answer we get.