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Twelve years.

Twelve years since September Eleventh.

I work in a place where many of the students weren't alive when that happened. It's not burned into their memories. They only watch the towers fall in documentaries (dubious as many of them are). They don't get to suspend disbelief thinking "this must be some crazy accident" only to watch the second plane smack into the other tower.

They also don't have to have the following thought "how many more planes are going to crash?"

The world after 9/11 is all they know.

They can still grow up to fight and die in Afghanistan. People my age and younger are still coming back dead or damaged. Many haven't come back yet.

Credit: DVIDSHUB, source: Flickr

Credit: DVIDSHUB, source: Flickr

There has always been a prison colony at Guantamo Bay. 

They don't know what it was like to live without security checkpoints at sporting events or public gatherings. 

We still don't trust each other. Even though this attack was perpetrated by people who were outsiders, we turned the guns and cameras on ourselves.

 I had hoped by now we would be past fear.

                            The whole time span seems incredibly long and incredibly compacted.

That was twelve years ago. It was just  twelve years ago.

 

 

Credit: Niels Mickers , source: Flickr

Credit: Niels Mickers , source: Flickr