It was less than a week before my 10th birthday and I was in 5th grade in a suburb of Rochester, NY. All morning, the teachers were acting strange. People kept coming into the classroom and whispering together.
We went out to the playground around 11:00, but my teacher pulled me inside early. The hallways were crowded with parents yelling and running around trying to find their kids. My teacher led me to my aunt and cousin (who was in 4th grade). My aunt explained quickly what had happened and took us home. We sat around the TV at our grandparents’ house all day. My mom couldn’t leave work, but I called her at least 10 times, begging her to come home.
She worked at Hallmark and had only one woman come in that day. The Circuit City next door had lent Hallmark a TV for the day, so it was on the counter. The woman glanced at it and said “Oh wasn’t that so sad what happened this morning?” and went on with her shopping like it was no big deal.
The next day, my teacher told us about a group of exchange students she had gone to NYC with the previous spring. When they visited the Twin Towers, they all laid on their backs on the ground right at the base of the buildings and stared up at the towers. She said it looked almost like they reached all the way to Heaven.
Well, maybe they did.