I was 17, a high school senior in Denton, Texas and getting ready to walk up the street to get a ride with my friend to school. My dad had just left for Sears where he worked as a tire salesman on his days off from the fire department. He called and said for us to turn on the TV because something was on the radio about a plane hitting the world trade center. I went to the living room and about 15 seconds after I switched it on, the second plane came in. I remember yelling for my mother to come quick. I ran up the street to my friends house and we watched more of the news before leaving for school. When we got there every television in every classroom was on and in first period we watched as the Pentagon was hit also. My first period class was journalism and a framed copy of the first amendment hung on the wall in the classroom and I can remember staring at it vividly and wondering if it would still have any meaning after everything that had just happened. Then, as the buildings fell, our school began to empty out. We weren’t in any danger but everyone just wanted to go home. I remember offering somebody the $1.25 I had in my pocket for lunch as gas money to take me home. My mother and I hugged when I walked through the front door without saying a word to each other.