The Day After 9/11 - A Profound Lesson Learned From the Heart of a Ten Year-Old

 It was September 12, 2001.  I was sitting on a carpet square, staring at 25 sets of fifth grade eyes that were staring back at me.  It was Community Circle time, our daily morning meeting, and we had only been in school for a handful of days.  What could I say to my students that would be helpful to them the day after a completely unexpected terrorist attack on the United States took place, two hours away from our school?

My thoughts went to the day before.  Yesterday seemed like a different existence.  The day started off like any other. I kissed my 5 month-old goodbye and handed him to my husband whose school opening had been delayed because of construction.  Prep was 9:05 - 9:35.  I went into the teachers’ room to use the copier.  Something was wrong.  A plane had crashed into the Twin Towers and another soon followed it.   Not knowing any other details, I thought a plane had malfunctioned.  I had no idea how wrong I was until lunchtime.  

The kids, however, had no idea.  They were blissfully unaware.  Until the parents began picking up their children in the middle of the day, that is.  While I never really answered their questions about what was going on, I tried to allay their fears the best I could.  

And now it was the day after. 

Community Circle was going to be a chance for the kids to share their thoughts and feelings.  I was apprehensive about this a little.  At 27 years-old and only a few years under my belt, how could I give them what they needed in a developmentally appropriate way?  As all of these thoughts were running through my brain, one of my students raised her hand to speak.  My heart almost stopped. 

The student, Emilia (name changed), was a tiny, sweet, little girl whom everyone liked.  She was friendly and kind and very soft-spoken.  She had a quiet voice and did not often volunteer in class.  I had thought about her all yesterday.  Emilia is Muslim.   The town in which I taught had one Muslim family in the whole building.  Most of my kids knew nothing of Islam, and, sadly, I did not know much either. With all of the information and misinformation on the airwaves and possibly (?) in people’s homes, I worried about if the other kids would say something that would be offensive to her and her family.  I wanted her to be ok and to feel safe in our classroom.   It never dawned on me that she would be the first to address the situation.

I took a deep breath and called on her to talk.   All eyes were on Emilia.  She stood up (a Community Circle routine) and told us matter-of-factly, “The people who flew those planes were not Muslims.  They call themselves Muslims, but they were not.  Islam is about love.”  With that, she sat down.  Everyone was quiet for a full minute.

I still get goosebumps as I think of that moment, one of the most memorable in my teaching career.  Emilia’s honest and open words touched all of the kids in that classroom.  There was never an issue made about Emilia being Muslim. Ever.  Emilia had powerfully spoken from her heart, and we heard her loud and clear.

Lesson learned:  Sometimes the quietest voices say the most profound things. Listen.