Kids Struggle to Find Answers as History Unravels Before Them

The “essential question” written on the board in Mr. Smiley’s American history class was this: “Why, in 20 years, did we change from happy loyal British subjects into disloyal rebellious scum?”

But no one was much interested in the American Revolution that morning. The question on the minds of Brent Smiley’s eighth-graders was this: Why, overnight, did we change from invincible superpower to helpless victim of terrorism?

And on this morning--as they watched silent television images of the World Trade Center reduced to rubble--their grim-faced teacher had no good answer. “There is no such thing as total safety,” Smiley told them. Terrorism is no new phenomenon. We are going through what other countries have endured for years.

“But this is America,” one girl piped up. And--in their worldview, at least--America has always been better, smarter, stronger than any other country; invulnerable to the atrocities that less-favored nations had to face.

Now, suddenly, these kids are grappling with emotions unimaginable before: what it feels like to be pitied and hated; to feel unprotected and insecure; to be angry enough to want retribution, but frightened by the thought of war.

The day before in Smiley’s class, they had talked of “defining moments”--those events in history that change the course of a country, shape its will, measure the character of its people.

These children couldn’t know it last Tuesday--when their day began with televised images of carnage, along with their cocoa and Cheerios--but we are in the midst of one. Their world has tilted on its axis, even if they don’t yet feel the shift.

And as Smiley walked them through the morning’s devastation--using the same even, measured tones he might have used to explain the Boston Tea Party the day before--you could see them struggling to come to grips with the magnitude of the unfolding tragedy.

Their questions were basic and straightforward, reflecting a childlike allegiance to fair play and an adolescent’s self-centeredness, along with the sophistication of a generation raised on “Armageddon” and “Independence Day.”

How many people died? Will this make things more expensive? How could they get past airport security? Are we going to bomb them back when we find out who did it?

It feels like a movie, one boy said; like it can’t be really happening. It is history, his teacher told him, but you can’t make it out while it’s happening.

It was through the tentacles of the disaster that the children glimpsed its power: All the country’s airplanes grounded. Baseball games and high school football canceled. The Emmys postponed. Shopping malls shut down. Amusement parks closed. Even MTV was off the air. This was big, all right. And each new revelation stood to heighten their fear. “You think they’ll come here next?” one girl asked.

Smiley reassured them with this guarantee: “Nobody is going to crash a plane into Lawrence Middle School.” They chuckled and looked at one another, but I saw nervousness in their smiles.

They’d seen their country’s insecurities unmasked that morning. We were naked in our vulnerability.

One day, I tell my daughters, their children will regard this as a history lesson, and they’ll be asked to recount for their kids just where they were, what they were doing, how they felt when the news came down.

My oldest says she’ll remember the horror--the sight of men and women leaping to their death from the crumbling World Trade Center’s top floors. My 12-year-old will recall how confused and frightened she felt as she watched me weep that morning, my tears sprinkling the steering wheel as I listened to the news on our drive to school. And my little one will remember the words of her teacher, who had his own defining moment to share.

He’d been her age when Pearl Harbor was bombed, and our country went to war. “We will get through this, just like we survived that,” he told them. “We’re a strong country. We’re brave, and we will go on.”

What he didn’t share is what he told me later, the other lesson Pearl Harbor taught us: That things will change, that life can never be the same.

And I worry for a generation that will come of age in the shadow of fear cast by terrorists.

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Sandy Banks’ column runs on Tuesdays and Sundays. Her e-mail address is sandy.banks@latimes.com.