First period Honors Physics with Mr. Cretella. Senior year.
It started as a rumor from one classmate. My good friend Luke said that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. We thought it was someone in a little propeller plane who veered off course. We were troubled, and the class was uneasy. But we didn’t know what was going on.
My high school principal then came over the air and announced that teachers should not turn on the televisions.
Second period Honors Pre-Calculus with Mr. King.
Screw that.
He turns the television on, and as soon as the news channel came into focus we watched the second Twin Tower come crashing down, live.
It was hard to watch. We were all fixated and dazed. “We’re at war,” someone murmured. Some cried.
I went to my car at lunch and put on 880-AM WCBS and listened. I’d never heard a newscaster sound so somber, so sad, before. But then again, I wasn’t alive when John F. Kennedy or Martin Luther King were killed. With that in mind, I became instantly aware that what was happening on September 11 was the biggest, most terrible thing to happen in my life so far.
It was Generation Y’s first tragedy.
That night, my father, who’s a fire fighter in East Haven, Conn., went to New York with his crew. I was scared that he was going but proud at the same time that he was one of the people who was being called to service.
What do you remember from 8 years ago? Where were you? Share your story in the comments section.