I was very young when the World Trade Center went down; five years old. I didn’t understand why the teachers were crying or why we were being sent home early, I just remember adults whispering words like “plane” “crash” “World Trade Center” and “terrorism”. At that age, I didn’t even know the last two words were, all I knew was that the word “crash” meant something bad happened.

When my brother and I had went home, my Grandma was out our house and she said that two planes had crashed into the side of the World Trade Center, one had crashed into the Pentagon, and one had went crashed down into a field in Pennsylvania. I didn’t know what the buildings were. I just knew that people were probably in those buildings; a lot of people. She shooed us into the next room, while she was watching the news; it was too graphic for five year-olds. I remember peeking around the corner and catching glimpses of smoke and people jumping off of buildings.

Remembering that this was 10 years ago, it kind of makes me feel old when in reality, I am only 15 years old, just beginning my sophomore year of high school. One can not and will not forget the events of September 11th, 2001.