(here's a repost from this day two years ago. i don't think i have much new to say...but maybe you didn't read this back then.)
he brought a knife to class.
i was an early-twenties
community college instructor, teaching an 8am developmental english
class in a computer lab. my students were of all sorts: young people
getting started on an associate degree and hoping to transfer to a
four-year college, older folks getting a new degree or certification in
pursuit of a career in nursing or automotive technologies, immigrants
getting their feet wet in a new world. they all came through my class
because they needed some extra work on college writing. i was wet
behind the ears, enthusiastically green and chomping at the bit to join
these students in their pursuit of a whole new life.
and
then, that morning, my slightly mysterious, quietly confused, small boy
in a big man's body of a student brought a knife to class. a hunting
knife, big and serrated, carried casually in a pouch on his hip. i
didn't notice, wrapped up as i was in the joys of proper grammar and
punctuation, thesis statements and topic sentences.
halfway
through the two-hour class, around 9am, we took a break. the students
left the computer lab for a drink, a snack (breakfast?), a smoke. they
came back atwitter. several reported to me, quietly but not so
casually, that the aforementioned student had a knife. indeed, there
was no mistaking it: the poor, sweet, wouldn't-harm-a-fly student was
carrying a weapon. was i supposed to know what to do about this? in
all my twenty-three years of life, all my nine months of teaching
experience? i talked to him quietly about the knife, asked him to
leave, told him to meet me in my office after class ended at 10am. i'd
explain then. he was clearly clueless and harmless, but he was also
confused and very concerned about missing class. i'd fill him in later,
i assured him, and (as i assured myself) i'd have my boss with me, just
in case.
the rest of the students were atwitter with
rumors flying through the hallways: there had been a plane crash in new
york city. "aren't you from new york, mrs. jackson?" a plane crash was
not high on my agenda for the morning; and anyhow, it was 9am, halfway
through my class, and there was much left to cover. and i was myself
distracted by the knife-wielding student. we plunged back into our
work.
class ended at 10am, and i headed quickly for the
adjacent building, which contained my office, my dean's office, and,
among other things, the president's office and the college's main
conference room. as i entered the building, i found the conference room
door open, which it never was, and the big-screen television on,
surrounded by many colleagues and students, including my dean.
not
grasping what had happened as i had spent the last two hours in
grammar-induced bliss, i hurriedly filled my dean in on my situation
with the armed student; my immediate boss was herself teaching a class,
and could my dean accompany me to meet the student who was no doubt
waiting outside my office door? she did, tearing herself away from the
television and quickly filling me in on the news.
***********
there
are six televisions on the wall in front of the exercise equipment of
the gym where i work out. this morning, on the eighth anniversary of
what we have all come to know simply as 9/11, i showed up at the gym
around 9:30, climbed on my usual elliptical near the center of the room,
plugged in my earbuds, and started jogging. was i aware of the date
before i looked at the televisions? i'm not sure. but on the screen in
front of me to my left was playing the footage from that very hour
eight years ago; and on the screen in front of me to my right, the live
memorial being held in the rain at ground zero.
the
elliptical in the center of a gym full of people is not my usual spot of
choice to break down. but as i watched, i was flooded with grief and
memories.
memories of my beloved dean--she who tore
herself from the footage eight years ago to come to my rescue--who
passed away last spring from skin cancer.
memories of frantic
attempts to find out the whereabouts of many city-dwelling college
friends, including one who was just a block from ground zero and whose
story from that day and those following still sends shivers up my spine.
memories
of my sister-in-law's story of watching the smoke billow from the twin
towers from her hoboken apartment as she wondered about her friend's
husband, who worked on the top floor. he had been running late for work
that morning, and hadn't arrived yet.
sure, those
stories can choke me up sometimes, in a private conversation or a quiet
moment. but on the elliptical? never before.
but the
pump is primed, as it were, and i understand loss. that's the long and
short of it. eight years ago, i had no idea what it meant to grieve. i
had no idea what it meant to live in the inexplicable physical pain of
tragedy. i did not understand fear or loneliness or mourning. sure, i
cried along with the rest of the country as 9/11 unfolded, but i didn't
know why.
today, on the elliptical, i did.
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