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It was about six thirty in the morning West Coast time.
My ex and I had just recently completed our divorce and I was living alone. I had recently lost my job at a software firm (tech bubble burst) and was kind of enjoying the time off. I was heading to the ex’s house to pick up the kids for school.
I popped into Starbucks for something to get the cobwebs out of my head. I don’t do mornings well. There was some guy mentioning while in line for his brew that a plane had flew into one of New York’s twin towers.
My mind went, huh, weird.
I grabbed my coffee and headed out the door to pick up my girls and take them to school. I got to the house and they had the television on. They were watching the news. Man, it looked bad. Smoke everywhere, just an eerie sight. This looked like a really bad accident.
I gathered the kids into the car and drove them to school. When we arrived at school all the parents were talking about it and the consensus was what a tragic mishap. I got in the car and headed back home. The radio kept updating us on what had happened and trying to figure out why, and then it happened. A second plane hit the other tower.
Oh my God.
I got home and ran to the television to watch the video of the second plane. What the hell is happening? What is going on? I sat mesmerized by the images. There was white smoke and then black smoke and people hanging out of the buildings. Why?
The news broke in on a special report. What could be more special than this? “A plane flew into the Pentagon?”
Oh my God.
Now I’m a little freaked out. I called my ex and we decided to leave the kids in school. No reports on the West Coast and I am literally ten minutes from the school if something were to happen. It was better to have them preoccupied with school today.
The rest of the day was kind of a blur. There was another plane crash in Pennsylvania. The Towers began to crumble to the earth, office workers, firemen, policemen, it all seemed surreal.
The next day the kids stayed home with their mom. I got a call from my church. They asked if I would help. They were opening the sanctuary all day for people to come pray. I was glad I had something to do and wanted to support those who were hurt and confused about the day before.
Every generation has had a “where were you when”.
Our grandparents had World War II. Our parents had the Kennedy assassination. We have 9-11.
Let’s hope the generation we are raising doesn’t have a “where were you when”.