I have an apartment in New York City , but reside in the suburb of Westchester County. My father, like many other kids parents, was working in Manhattan. It started as a normal, perfect, sunny September day. Little did I know that this day would soon become one of the most tragic days in history. I rememember hearing the news as it spread on the playground at school. I was only in second grade and was too ignorant to understand evil. I remember overhearing a fellow student say that a plane had accidentally hit the World Trade Center. I didn’t think much of it. Shortly after, parents came russing, picking up their children and bringing them home. However, my mother didn’t get me. She was too busy trying to contact my father, and did not want us to know, since she knew she would scare us. My brothers and I stayed at a family friends house until around 7PM, when my mother came to get us. She had finally contacted my father, which she was unsuccessful with doing because the cell towers were not working, causing chaos for those trying to contact loved ones. I remember my father coming home, his suit and face covered in a white powdery looking substance, which turned out to be ash from the debris. My father works in the financial industry and did plenty of business with companies located in the World Trade Center. For days on end we kept discovering those we had known who perished in this tragedy. I will never forget this day, it is the most important memory of my life.