A Field of Honor Forever “Attention all faculty and students, please turn your televisions on to the news channel. This is an emergency. Students remain calm and do as your teachers say. We will be announcing everything over the loud speaker.” As my teacher began explaining to us what was happening she handed out blank copy paper to each individual. She told us to draw an American Flag and what was most important to us. I vividly remember coloring in my family standing below the American Flag. Below it stood my father John wearing his race attire, my mother Tammy wearing her soccer t-shirt, my brother JD in his wrestling uniform, and my pet turtle. As I began to draw a dreadful stick figure of myself, I looked out the classroom window and saw a large object falling from the sky. It left a distinct black path of smoke behind as it was on a downward spiral. My fellow classmates huddled around my desk to watch out the window. Some of my friends, Olivia and Robbie turned to the fetal position beneath their desks. It was like the duck and cover, Bert the turtle, from the civil war as they ducked and covered beneath their desk. We watched as the plane struck the ground at an unimaginable speed. Fire and smoke towered above the trees and within seconds vehicles with loud sirens and flashing red, white, and blue lights went flying past. I looked across the hall to see Mr. Boyd sprinting out the classroom door. He was a volunteer firefighter in our community. He left his room without hesitation. Right away I began to feel frightened. Children were hiding in every place imaginable, while some showed no fear. I tried to show no fear and watch out the window with the boys, but I was devastated. Many of the girls went and sat by the closet door and began crying. The impact of the plane startled everyone. The ground beneath our feet shook. I never would have imagined such a devastating tragedy happening in my community. The sounds and sight of somber filled the narrow hallways full of projects and A+ paper’s. Students were called down to the office over the loudspeaker one by one as their parents arrived to pick them up. I was one of the last kids remaining in the classroom with my cousin Jessica when we were finally called down. My grandmother was unable to get out of her road for her house was within walking distance of the crash site. I wasn’t aware of how devastating this incident was. However, my sense of security was rocked. I had been taught that America was the land of freedom that no one could lay their finger on. Here I was sitting in the back of my grandmother’s rickety red Buick contemplating how our nation had just taken on such a devastating blow. It was the morning of September 11, 2001. Al Qaeda terrorists hijacked four commercial airliners in an intentionally planned attack against the United States. These terrorist’s flew two aircrafts into the World Trade Center's Twin Towers in New York City and a third aircraft into the Pentagon. A fourth aircraft, United Airlines Flight 93, crashed into an open field in Somerset County, Pennsylvania, killing all passengers, crew members, and terrorists on board. The four aircraft strikes killed thousands of people. It was the deadliest attack on American soil by a foreign unit. I never could have imagined such a terrifying tragedy happening in my backyard. Flight 93 was within seconds of landing directly on a school full of children, where I was one of them.
I began my day like any other. I woke up to the song Great Escape, and began getting ready for school. The crew members assigned to Flight 93 began their day like any other as well. They prepared for the early morning non-stop flight from New Jersey to San Francisco, California. Little did they know that terrorists were targeting domestic flights like Flight 93 that had few passengers. They wanted the least amount of resistance. The terrorists arranged it so it was a type of aircraft that they had been trained to pilot