They were too young to understand what it meant when hijacked planes smashed into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and a Pennsylvania field on a clear September day in 2001.
They have grown up with cycles of long deployments that sent parents and siblings repeatedly off to war.
They are part of a new generation, living with a stark reality: Nearly 6,500 military personnel have been killed in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Roughly 5,000 children have lost a parent, and more than 5,200 have lost a sibling, according to estimates.
The youngest will grow up only knowing their lost loved one through stories told by family and friends; the older ones will try to come to terms with their loss while coming of age, navigating that awkward period between childhood and adulthood.
For Jordan and other first-timers at grief camp, such a loss has forever altered a time in their lives when they should be looking forward to the possibilities rather than looking back at what could have been.
Every year, the nonprofit Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors brings together hundreds of children of fallen service members to attend the Good Grief Camp. The camp coincides with TAPS' National Military Survivor Seminar for spouses and parents.
This year, more than 2,000 people, including 500 children, are in attendance. Among them are 120 teens between the ages of 13 and 19, broken into age groups such as the one Jordan is attending.
Each child and teen at the camp is paired with an adult mentor, primarily active-duty service members who can provide an ear and a shoulder.
In this environment, Jordan and the others will find a kinship among a group no one ever wants to belong to -- and one that is growing in its ranks.
"So why are you all here?" asks Vicki Jay, a counselor who will spend four days coaxing and cajoling Jordan's group through lessons aimed at constructively coping with loss.
"Fun," yells one 16-year-old boy.
Some of the teens giggle.
"Get out of school for the week," says another.
More teens giggle.
OK, OK, other than to get out of school, Jay asks.
Therapy, says one. New friendships, says another.
Jordan sits quietly. So do 15-year-old Ashlyn McCain and 16-year-old Tyler Gandy, also first-timers.
None of them have any idea what to say. They could say they were forced to go, that their mothers signed them up and that they really don't want to be here.
But that's not what you say when you're a teenager in unfamiliar surroundings. What you say is absolutely nothing.