Like many people, it’s a day that I’ll never forget. September 11, 2001.
I had just started my senior year of high school. I was excited for what the future held for me. I remember walking in the halls of my high school and as we switched classes, someone mentioned that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center.
To be honest, most of the students in my class had no idea what the building even was. Many even thought it was an accident.
Shortly after, we found out that it was intentional. Everyone skipped class to find the nearest TV. I went to my English teacher’s classroom where we all gathered around to watch the live news coverage. That’s when we saw the second plane hit the second tower. It was an image burned into my memory.
When I watched the skyscrapers fall to the ground, panic set in. Here’s the thing. My dad lived in NYC at the time. He had just taken a job as a school principal there. I immediately called him not knowing where he was in the city in relation to the twin towers.
In fact, the phone lines weren’t even working. I called several cousins, aunts and uncles who also lived or worked near Manhattan. Busy signal. I was 16 years old. Confused and frightened. It was clear that hundreds, if not thousands of people would lose their lives in the crash and collapse.
I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to commit such a heinous act.