Twelve years ago I was in my senior year of high school. I went to sleep the night before thinking about baseball and how I could skip first period the next morning.
I was walking through the commons and remember seeing people gathering around the little tv by the cafeteria.
I don’t remember much else but seeing the image of planes hitting the WTC over and over and over…to the point that it is permanently engraved in my brain.
I can’t even think about it without my chest feeling heavy, my throat closing up and my eyes starting to well up with tears.
My dad saw it happen from the roof of the building he worked at in midtown.
I was terrified that something was going to happen to him and he wouldn’t be able to get home.
He walked, along with hundreds of other people, over bridges and through the streets to get to Long Island.
A sad day for the world and a day to remember forever.
And what happened after that?
Did we get justice for those who attacked and killed almost three thousand people?
We went to war with Iraq & Afghanistan.
To protect oil. And drugs.
And kill even more men and women that volunteered their lives for what they most likely believed was a righteous cause.