On September 11th, 2001, I was a first grader in Miss Haywood-Bass' class. I shifted in my little desk, uncomfortably, as she dialed her daughter's number on her little black cell phone, antenna extended as far as it would go. Her face was red and disgruntled. She kept getting a busy signal and couldn't figure out if her daughter had made it out of the office in the Pentagon where she worked. She cried and the other first-grade teacher consoled her. The white analog television was turned off hurriedly when we entered the room; its face erased from the terrorism of that day. A white space shuttle sticker had been slapped on the side of the television and I stared at it. All the other details are out of focus, muddied; for example, Miss Haywood's daughter is alive and well, but I can't remember if she escaped the building or if she wasn't working in the Pentagon that day. All that matters, though, is she is okay and just couldn't contact her mother because the cell phone towers were inundated with calls of hope and despair. The scene goes black and from that day forward, our country changed forever.

In 2003, I was sprawled in front of the television and watched as our President declared War in Iraq. In 2004, a family friend from church was shipped out on a deployment with his unit, the 1092nd. I prayed and prayed every night that Donald and his unit would come home unharmed; that the Lord would place a bubble of protection over his whole unit. I watched as classmates' siblings and other family members were shipped overseas to fight terrorism. Who were the people we were fighting? What is terrorism? News stations showed displayed footage from combat: soldiers shooting at each other, explosions, and the injured, screaming with limbs that been reduced to bloody stumps.

An intangible fear welled up inside me. We would practice shelter-in-place drills in the gymnasium in part because of the shootings at Columbine High School in 1999, but the sense of urgency and necessity heightened after 9/11. We compiled care packages for Soldiers deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan: cards drawn in crayon, hard candy, playing cards, hygiene products were collected. I just didn't understand why we couldn't live in peace? As the years ticked by, I began to notice the women in hijabs who pushed strollers down the mall. My chest would tighten and I quickened my pace. Terrorism looked like the man in the turban or the woman in the hijab standing behind me in line at Walmart or Borders bookstore. It wasn't until 2011, when Osama Bin Laden was assassinated, that I realized the extent of my fear of Islam and Middle Eastern people, in general. I, like many other teenagers and adults, was elated by this event. It was like the Boogey man, who had camped out in the corners of mind, was finally captured. I was happy that a man had died, a human being that stripped human rights from so many. However, later that year, I met a foreign exchange student from Lebanon, named Leen.

"Don't believe everything in the news." She had warned.

Leen with her black curly hair and warm brown eyes was and is not a terrorist, she was my friend and we bowled on the same bowling team. We were both beginning bowlers and goaded each on during each turn when were paired in adjacent lanes for practice. My heart began to soften and I started to think critically about the media representations of Middle Eastern people and the perceptions of my family and friends. We were tested on the events of September 11th in my A.P. U.S. History class and I did not do well on the exam. How little did I know about the Iraq and Afghanistan Wars, of the events that transpired on 9/11? Very little.

From elementary to high school, we hardly ever broached the subject of terrorism in the United States or even made it as far as the 21st century in our textbooks. I don't know the reasons why we hardly ever discussed 9/11 or the subsequent Wars; whether it was because we were alive and living it or because it just seemed too messy, the politics too complicated for children. I do know, though, that if we had been taught about the difference between Islam and radical Islam or even just the Iraq and Afghanistan Wars, a lot of confusion and racism could have been replaced with an understanding of fellow man. I recently read an NPR article, "Teaching Sept 11 to Students who Were Born after The Attacks Happened" which revealed that, "According to one survey, only about 20 states include anything in depth about the events of that fateful day in their high school social studies curriculum. And when they are taught, critics say, it's often through a narrow lens" (Westervelt). We need to teach students that it is better to understand than fear. There are people of every color and creed that hate and kill for no reason, but we don't have to harbor that hate in our own hearts. It's easy to hate, but it is more difficult and worth it to reach out a hand of compassion to someone who does not look like us.

It wasn't until I entered college and began to tutor international students that I met and befriended people from the Middle East. I am so glad I have been proved wrong, but I often wonder about the effect of education not just in the home, but outside the home as well, if that would have had an effect on my perceptions. My parents certainly tried to explain the events of 9/11 and its implications, but it's a difficult issue to address--made even more difficult in the early 21st century, because of the lack of information and uncertainty. This is the time, folks, to teach our children. Don't be afraid, you can be the change. Plant seeds of understanding.