
I was wearing a steel blue shirt, khakis, and brown boots. I was sitting in our sophomore biology class when we heard a bomb went off in one of the twin towers. Our teacher let us go across the hall into the special-education room where they had televisions. We remained there the rest of that class to watch the horror unfold. And throughout the day we were glued to the news.
Later that night I drove momโs van to the gas station with grandpa to fill up. Why? Because thatโs what everyone was doing. I suppose adults realized we may end up at war with the Middle East, and gas may be scarce. Grandpa was horrified when someone cut me in line and I flipped off the driver. I had never done that before to anyone ever. I suppose my nerves were frayed.
I was 15. A high school sophomore in small town America. I didnโt know what the World Trade Center was. I didnโt know what the Pentagon was. I had never flown on an airplane. I had never visited a big city. And I definitely didnโt know what terrorism was.
My senior year of high school I visited New York for the first time. I was adamant that I wanted to see Ground Zero. Our group was on a shopping trip (we obviously had different priorities). But our group leader promised me we could go there. I didnโt realize how close we were. We turned a corner and I first noticed the road had large asphalt patches. I remember thinking those were some crazy big potholes. I later learned the road was damaged by falling debris from the towers.
Ground Zero was really just a big hole in the ground in 2003. It had construction barriers around it and couldโve been any construction site. I could see where the underground levels were still visible. There were memorials here and there. It was so surreal to be standing in that place where all those horrible things had happened. Before I knew it, I was crying.
And thatโs whatโs so funny about it, even now. I didnโt know anyone who died. I had no nostalgia for New York. I hadnโt visited the capital. I didnโt personally know any firefighters or EMTs. I had no connection to any of it.
Except I did. Because it was my country. My fellow Americans. So it was personal, even if it wasnโt personal.
Letโs be honest: thatโs how we all felt. Thatโs why the coming days and months we saw an unusual unity in out country. We were devastated by the tragedy, but inspired by the courage and heroic acts. We were, above anything else, Americans.
Iโve been through a lot over the last two decades. College. Law school. Two battles against cancer. Iโve traveled, given speeches, argued in court, and bought a house. Iโve also lost people and friends and pets that I love dearly. In other words, Iโve grown up.
And all of that has made each anniversary so much more poignant. Because now I can relate to the people who were involved so much more easily. I go to work every day in a tall (though not that tall!) building. I work in my office. I build relationships with my colleagues. And I have dreams and aspirations for my life.
Just like all of them.
One day Iโll make it back to New York City (despite my aversion to big citiesโฆ). Iโll see the beautiful memorial that replaced that awful hole in the ground. Iโll probably cry again. And itโll feel like Iโve come full circle.
On the 20th anniversary of that awful, life-changing day, Iโll do what I normally do. Iโll watch the tv specials. Iโll cry for those regular people who turned into heroes. Iโll don my red, white, and blue. Iโll appreciate being an American.
And I wonโt forget. Iโll never forget.
Friends in our church, their daughter worked in one of those towers. She worked late into the night to finish a project on Sept. 10. Her supervisor told her to sleep in and show up after lunch.