Senior year in high school, eight in the morning, Pacific time. I was seven weeks from turning seventeen, full of teen angst, crappy acne, and excess blubber from bad eating habits. I took my seat in Creative Writing–the first class of my Fall 2001 semester. Instead of my teacher getting ready with our classwork, he turned on the TV to watch what looked like news. But what I and everyone else in that classroom saw on TV that very moment was more than just news. We were watching a disaster in New York City unfold in real time.
I don’t think we did any classwork that morning. I actually don’t remember doing any classwork in all my classes that day. You know something monumental has happened to where it completely disrupts all class plans and then some. All my teachers that day became fixated on the chaos and attacks in NYC. And I remember noticing this wave of seriousness that swept up all of us on campus. All us students, from Freshmans to Seniors, the jocks and cheerleaders to the bullies and bookworms, knew it was an unusual day that we would likely not forget.
Twenty-five years later, I still will #neverforget. 🕯️🕊️
