flight 93: never forgotten.

a formative memory that shaped my life & my politics

by sarah selip | september 11 2024

First and foremost, I am proud to be an American. However, I can’t emphasize enough how growing up in the post-9/11 generation affected my life, career, and, most importantly, my love of country.

I knew I wanted to get into politics from an early age, but I can’t address that without acknowledging where it all started — my hometown.

Living in DC, I’ve met countless people whose lives were directly affected by 9/11. Some of my best friends in This Town lost relatives and friends in the terrorist attack at the World Trade Center. And truth be told, most of us will never begin to comprehend how much today means to them and their families.

But, for me and countless Pennsylvanians, Flight 93 will always stay close to my heart.

I grew up in Western Pennsylvania, a stone’s throw away from the mountains and about an hour away from Pittsburgh.

2001 was a massive year for me. I was the new first-grade kid at a small picturesque grade school planted at the base of a mountain range surrounding our area — aptly named Valley School of Ligonier, just a few miles from Shanksville, PA, the tiny town rocked to its core when a plane was hijacked and re-routed to Washington, D.C.

At Valley, students K-9 had two recesses — one in the morning and one after lunch.

On the sunny morning of 9/11, my childhood best friend Ashley and I took full advantage of the crisp morning weather during our first recess. We rode red tricycles around the blacktop in the courtyard with our classmates—a movie-worthy morning for a carefree five-year-old kid.

Unfortunately, the next few seconds, even minutes, will stick with me until the day I die.

You rarely pay attention to the sky when you're a kid.

That is until the sky goes dark out of nowhere.

Everyone stops what they’re doing — teachers and students alike — stops in the tracks to look up to see a plane flying very low, just over the school. (We had an airport nearby, so we were used to seeing planes, but nothing like this.)

To illustrate and provide context, the school was remote, tucked away, off the beaten path.

A massive white Boeing 757 flies just over Valley.

The plane felt so close that, even as a five-year-old, you could reach up and touch it if you stood up straight enough.

The sound she makes as she soars through is deafening.

The wind gust that follows suit is intense.

But the most haunting thing for me is that we could make out the numbers on Flight 93’s undercarriage and tail.

N591UA

The next moments are a blur. We somehow make it into the building and are rushed into the school’s basement, where we huddle up, terrified.

After some time, we’re sent to our home rooms, where each classroom television is on the news, and we’re told what happened before we are pushed into the auditorium — our parents rush to the school and begin picking us up one by one.

As we found out later that afternoon, Flight 93 flew so low over our school that there was a genuine chance it could’ve crashed into us. Instead, she crashed into the fields, just over the mountains from us, less than 4 minutes later.

This had a devastating toll on our area.

Our custodians, who were tending to the field hockey and soccer fields up the hill from the main campus, were called by the FBI about their experience for the investigation.

Our close friend and neighbor, a former pilot, was immediately asked to investigate the crash site with his team. We were told never to ask Ron about it. Unfortunately, he passed away last year.

The patriotism that ensued was beyond comprehension. Everything felt red, white, and blue, and the Fourth of July parades were more meaningful.

Who can forget when George W. Bush threw out the ceremonial first pitch at Yankees Stadium before Game 3 of the World Series?

As part of a Republican family, I was proud to have him lead our party and our country through this horrible time.

Even now, I believe that to be a Republican is to love our country.

America First. Always.

One of my formative memories was witnessing firsthand one of the greatest tragedies our country has ever seen and the direct response from Americans who were outstandingly proud to be just that.

Americans.