Marybeth Hicks

Like every other American, I remember with crystal clarity where I was and what I was doing the morning of Sept. 11, 2001.

My children were off school for a teacher in-service day. I had taken the dog to the vet for an 8:30 a.m. appointment, leaving behind a pajama-clad assembly in the den watching “SpongeBob SquarePants.” My plan was to rally my troops for a morning of chores, then reward them with an afternoon outing to enjoy what was shaping up to be a spectacular September day.

How quickly plans change.

When I walked into the house at about 9 a.m., my eldest daughter, Kate, met me at the door in a breathless panic. “A plane crashed into the World Trade Center!”

We rushed to the den to see the news coverage, only to watch in horror as the second plane slammed into the South Tower.

Immediately, we became concerned about a cousin whose apartment is a two-minute walk from the Trade Center. Gradually, as the terrifying events of the morning continued to unfold, I realized the safety of all of us was at risk, even those of us living in “the flyover.”

Life in America had changed right before our eyes.

By the time the South Tower collapsed, I realized the well-being of my children was not served by watching the live coverage on television. I knew I couldn’t really protect them from the reality of what was happening, but I also knew that at only 11, 9, 7 and 3 years old, they were too young to see such violent and disturbing images.

More than that, I needed to give them a way to respond — a way to take action and be empowered. As corny as it may sound in the retelling, I piled my kids into my van and took them to our church to pray.

If nothing else, I wanted them to learn that the faith we were trying to instill in their hearts was real and powerful and useful. “There’s nothing we can do right now but pray,” I said. “But that’s exactly what the victims and their families need most.”

That day and those that followed presented new challenges for parents like me. We struggled to reassure our children that they were safe, though we honestly weren’t sure if that was true.

We worked to protect our children’s innocence and optimism by shielding them from the barrage of news coverage that would only serve to stir anxiety and fear in their hearts.

We tackled tough questions about the presence of evil in our world, and about the motives of a man like Osama bin Laden and his hateful followers, while reminding our children that only God can judge the hearts of men.


Marybeth Hicks

Marybeth Hicks is the author of Don't Let the Kids Drink the Kool-Aid: Confronting the Left's Assault on Our Families, Faith, and Freedom (Regnery Publishers, 2011).