My mom always told me the story of when President John F. Kennedy was shot and killed. She distinctly remembered where she was, who she was with, and what she felt. I couldn't relate to her at all, and I honestly believed I'd never be able to. September 11th, 2001 started off like any normal school day for me. It was one of the first days of my freshman year in high school. The morning was normal, until I realized a lot of kids were getting sent home early. I thought it was a coincidence. I didn't know what had happened until our principal made an announcement over the loud speaker informing us of that mornings events. It took a while to completely settle in and for me to realize what had happened. I didn't know much, but from what I knew, many innocent people were killed. All through lunch and the rest of the school day, other students were crying because of family members or friends that they knew who worked in the World Trade Centers. I watched in horror as my friends were frantically trying to reach their parents to make sure they were ok. When I got home, I sat down and finally got to see what really happened. I couldn't believe it. Seeing two airplanes filled with people smashing into two office buildings was unbelievable. I will never get the picture of those planes out of my mind. When I first saw it happen my eyes filled with tears. The whole night I watched the news broadcasts of what happened and I cried through the whole thing. So many emotions were running through me! Scared, upset, angry, and hateful. I didn't know how else to show them except by crying. Nobody that I knew personally had died, but a boy that's my age, in my school lost his father. We all went to his memorial service and nobody left without crying. I couldn't imagine what the families of the victim's were going through. What would I do if terrorists took my father away from me? Or my mother, anyone. Weeks cont...