Sept. 11 sort of snuck up on me this year. Midmorning, I was scrolling through social media and I saw a post from one of my journalism professors of that day.

The post included photos of the student publications staff working, producing the Sept. 12 edition of The Collegian.

And it all came rushing back.

I was a student journalist; the photo editor of our college newspaper. On that morning, I was on the Konza Prairie, working on a photo story for a class. It was a calm, peaceful morning and I was photographing horse trainers. We first learned about the first plane hitting the tower via the radio.

Initially, I thought it was a horrible mistake, some terrible accident.

Yet as I stood with the trainers on the open prairie, listening to the radio echo from the open windows of their pickup, I knew it was much more than that.

The rest of the day was an intense blur. We students were learning, but we also had a job to do. We did it to the best of our ability.

One of our amazing alumni who lived in New York City was generous and sent photos that we could use in our collegiate newspaper. Our student reporters and photographers stepped up to the plate, overcame the shock and told the story as the student body at K-State experienced it.

I remember going to the campus church that night and just sitting in the dark, completely deflated and empty. As a journalist, my job that day was to work, not to feel the news or react to it.

I don’t think I processed the events of that day in a complete way. In fact, it was probably a decade later that I was at the Newseum, sitting in the 9/11 exhibit before I completely broke down. The enormity of the loss, the courage of first responders, the lives altered that day all came crashing down on me.

If I’m being completely honest, I probably still haven’t processed what happened. Sometimes, it’s easier to have a good cry and then shut the door on those memories.

Recently, my son has been interested in the Indiana Jones trilogy. I was passing through the TV room one day, and he was telling me about the “villians” and what they were up to. “Oh yeah, those were the Nazis,” I told him. “What is a Nazi?” he inquired.

And my heart caught in my throat.

How do I explain evil to my innocent 10-yearold? What are the right words? How can I explain that some people feel anger and hatred and make very mean choices? Choices that cost many innocent people their lives?

The simple answer was that I didn’t. I chickened out. I went with the easy, “They were being mean” answer.

Right now, my son knows nothing of the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001. But some day he will ... and he will ask ... and I will have to find a way to walk through the tangle of my own confused emotions to tell him.

Bonar is the editor/publisher of the Tribune and can be reached via email: kbonar@indyrepnews.com.

On Sept. 11, The Marquette Fire District No. 2 honors the fallen fire fighters and all who lost their lives on 9/11 from 21 years ago.

FRED PETERSON/Marquette Tribune

Karen Bonar

Editor/ Publisher