The first time Mike Reynolds taught his class on literature and national trauma, everyone had a Sept. 11 story.
It was 2008, and most of his students were middle schoolers on that bright September morning when planes started crashing into buildings, one after another after another. His students remembered what we all remember.
The towers falling. Smoke billowing out of the Pentagon. A charred crater in a Pennsylvania field. New York covered in ash. America shrouded in flags.
"Many of them ranked it as the most significant historical event of their lifetime," said Reynolds, a professor of English at Hamline University who teaches a course on Narratives of National Trauma, a class that studies stories about wars, disasters and assassinations that scarred generations.
A decade ago, his students "all felt personally traumatized" by the attacks, Reynolds said. "The collective national engagement with it, days weeks and months afterward; it felt like you had that trauma in your own life, even here in Minnesota, far, far away."
Everyone had a 9/11 story. Everyone remembered the eerie days when all the planes were grounded and there wasn't a single contrail in the sky. The long nights spent curled up on the couch, watching the footage over and over again, because it was the only thing airing on any channel.
Most college students today were toddlers on Sept. 11, 2001. They can barely picture a world where most of us got news about the attack from our televisions and not our phones.
Their stories start in the world we made for them afterward.