Dear Readers,
I was at home, getting ready for another day in my fourth grade class. It's September 11th and the day has been on my mind all week. My title for this entry, as is common, comes from a song sung by Alan Jackson. Unfortunately, no song can come close to describing where each one of us one that September morning when the World Trade Center, The Pentagon and countless lives were damaged or destroyed.
I was just shy of being 10 years old and I was scared when my grandmother called our house and asked to talk to my mom. She told me to turn on the television before handing the phone to mom. The news networks, all in a frenzy, were showing images of two buildings, side by side, that were smoking. Later I heard that they had collapsed.
Where I was is of no significance. Where all of those people who gave their lives were, that's what matters. The firefighters climbing the stairs that would crumble beneath them, the passengers in those planes that never reached their destination and all those doing another day's work in New York; their location is what matters. I don't personally know anyone who died that day. Friends of mine do. Some had great friends who died the aircraft, others on the ground. Those friends will never forget, and neither will I.
I was at home, getting ready for another day in my fourth grade class. It's September 11th and the day has been on my mind all week. My title for this entry, as is common, comes from a song sung by Alan Jackson. Unfortunately, no song can come close to describing where each one of us one that September morning when the World Trade Center, The Pentagon and countless lives were damaged or destroyed.
I was just shy of being 10 years old and I was scared when my grandmother called our house and asked to talk to my mom. She told me to turn on the television before handing the phone to mom. The news networks, all in a frenzy, were showing images of two buildings, side by side, that were smoking. Later I heard that they had collapsed.
Where I was is of no significance. Where all of those people who gave their lives were, that's what matters. The firefighters climbing the stairs that would crumble beneath them, the passengers in those planes that never reached their destination and all those doing another day's work in New York; their location is what matters. I don't personally know anyone who died that day. Friends of mine do. Some had great friends who died the aircraft, others on the ground. Those friends will never forget, and neither will I.
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