I woke up and threw on a black tee and a pair of gray capris; balled my hair up in a messy bun and started the coffee pot. My husband (who was still my fiancee at the time) and I watched the morning news before he left for work. After he left, I muted the television during the Early show on CBS, lit a cigarette, turned on the stereo, and started my housecleaning routine.

At 9:15 am on the morning of September 11th, 2001 I was sweeping my kitchen when my father called and said that planes were crashing into buildings in New York and planes were being hijacked all over the eastern United States, and the twin towers were the first hit.

I ran to the muted television in the living room, and my heart dropped. So did the phone. Van Morrison's "Into the Mystic" was playing on the radio, and all I could think about was hell had broken loose, and all those stories I had heard in church as a child were coming true. Hell had come to America. Fire and smoke and papers and falling bodies of people who didn't want to burn to death. Help those souls, it was like Armageddon...and I was alone. I sat 6 inches from the television paralyzed in fear, flipping from channel to channel to hear more news, and then...

The Pentagon was hit, more planes were supposedly in the air, and now it was considered an assault on the government, and all I could think about was my partner working in a Federal building in the biggest city in the state, and I had no idea where to call him. Small beans hitting Kentucky, I know, but at that moment I had absolutely no idea how far this was going to go...and we had Fort Knox a short distance away. I mean, if they hit the PENTAGON, the hub and heart of the US Military right under their noses, they could hit anywhere. I was twenty one, alone, in my first apartment, hours away from my family, in a town where I knew literally no one. And then the buildings came down. In an hour, my world was turned upside down, and the America I had grown up in, and learned to love, died with those pillars of fire and smoke. I was no longer safe. Nothing would ever again be the same.

I cried for those poor people. I cried for their children. I cried for my nation. I cried until I couldn't, and I sat on my couch like a zombied widow at a funeral.

I didn't know what to do, but I did the one thing I could: I called my family and told them I loved them. I'm sure many of you did the same. I barely slept for months.




It is in times of crisis that Americans once again remember what it is to live up to the title. We bonded together, and reunified as a nation, once again. And we carried on. We always carry on. We are the United States of America.

Don't forget the victims. 2996 families were forever altered, and every Average Joe and Jane citizen in this nation mourned and continues to mourn with them.

Don't forget that surge of pride you felt afterwards, that you were so fortunate to live in a free society that so many generations had fought and died to preserve.

Don't forget that day, and how we all showed compassion and love for our fellow neighbors, because that is more of an example of America's strength than any show of military force could ever produce.

I haven't forgotten a single detail of the day my world changed. I am quite sure that many of you haven't. Where were you on September 11th, 2001?
~Kelli

Labels: 9/11, memories, patriotism, pentagon, september 11th, twin towers, United States, writing

Flashback: 1995.

A fourteen year old me (and incoming high school Freshman) enters the hallowed halls of the local Walmart to shop for school clothes. Before you roll your eyes, I was a poor kid. My family couldn't afford the Arizona jeans, Levi's and No Fear shirts that were in vogue at that time, and when you were in my station in life, you took what you could get.

So, onward through the maze of old lady clothes in Wally World I went. You know how in the Wayne's World movie when Wayne sees the 64 Fender Stratocaster (in classic white with single triple coil pickups and a whammy bar) in the music store window and he has that "it will be mine" moment? I experienced that very same feeling. Tucked on a rack next to an assortment of purple windbreakers was THE GREATEST SHIRT ON EARTH.

The shirt in question was a plain white tee with a screenprint of Margaret from the Dennis the Menace comics with the caption "Someday a woman will be President!" above her outstretched arms.





I absolutely HAD to have that shirt, because even then it was something my fourteen year old equal opportunity and budding Pro-Fem mindset firmly believed in.

...In 1995.
...Before it was cool.
...Before it was "acceptable".
...Before it was P.C. (Politically correct)

I carried it over to the buggy, and tried to sneak it in without my family looking, because at fourteen years old, I still had to gain familial approval of all body covering.

"What's this?" my dad says. He pulls the shirt from the buggy, takes one look at my dreams hanging on that rack and then...

"Absolutely not."

Being the excellent teenage whiner I had become by 1995, I shoot George, (my nickname for my Grandmother), the champion of my childhood wants and most awesome woman on the planet, my best rendition of puppy dog eyes and soon I hear "Cecil Junior, let her get the damn shirt."

AHA!
YESSS!
I win!
George: One --- Dad: Zip.

I went home a very happy girl, and Dad went home complaining and teasing that there was no point wearing that shirt because it was dumb, and there would never be a female President.

Fast Forward to a week before school starts.

I saw a minute tidbit on the news about a shirt that Walmart had taken off the shelves because Family Values groups were protesting the message it sent out to young girls. The impossible message that someday a woman would be President.

...MY SHIRT!

I was more than determined to wear it now. After arguments with my Dad about wearing a banned shirt that had no business being worn to school, I wore it on the first day. Even more, I was the only person who owned that shirt.

...And I caught hell for it from my classmates, predominantly male. Jeers abound. I ignore.

It seemed like in 1995 in the heart of Appalachia, my Dad was a voice of popular opinion in the male crowd. But I persevered. I wore that shirt like a banner of girl power emblazoned across my chest. I was sure that a woman would be President someday, and girls like me needed a dream, inspiration to lead.

That shirt really inspired me to achieve.

Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, we have a photograph of myself celebrating one of my first educational triumphs of my high school years:





Yes, that's me (...during my awkward phase), wearing the greatest shirt on Earth, bashfully accepting a trophy for placement(in Language Arts, if I'm not mistaken)at a Regional Governor's Cup Competition. That trophy was only one small dream realized, a tiny stepping stone in a path of many through my years.

That simple construction of cloth inspired me to stand up for what I believe in, become an achiever, and soon after, a student leader. Over a decade down the road and I'm still doing my part to inspire a new generation to dream, believe, and achieve.

So, twelve years ago I was a rebel. (I still am)
I had my own belief, and it shaped who I am today.

That same belief is now a very real possibility for someone else who was once a young girl.

38 years ago, another young girl had aspirations of doing her part to make this world a better place. That young girl became a young woman who spoke eloquently and true to her own beliefs, in defiance of a senator's address during her own college commencement speech at Wellesley college.





That girl grew up to become Hillary Clinton, the first major female candidate to run for the position of President of the United States. She is a role model for young women everywhere. Twelve years ago in my world, the thought was ludicrous.

The message on that t-shirt from 1995 doesn't seem so impossible now, does it? We've come a long way as a society, haven't we?

Yet, Walmart still refuses to sell it.

But thanks again to the wonders of modern technology, you can buy it here, from the woman who created it.

Support the foundation that supports the dreams of millions of little girls all over the nation. Someday your own daughter might dream to be someone who makes a difference.

~Kelli

Labels: Appalachian life, dreams, feminism, goals, hillary clinton, memories, nonfiction, president, teens, true story, tshirt, walmart