9/11: First My Childhood, Now My Freedom

As a child, I learned to adapt to many situations. By the time I was in kindergarten, I knew that the sound of gunshots meant I was supposed to lay flat on the ground until the shooting completely stopped. And by the time I was 7, I could tell you what a dead body looked like after being shot up, and how long it would take for the police to respond. I had already walked out my front & back doors to play on numerous occasions, to only see chalk outlining where bodies had previously lied and bloodstains waiting to be washed away by the rain.

When other kids my age were being shielded from PG-13 movies, my childhood was being stolen from me. Things weren't perfect, but we finally managed to escape the housing project I grew up in. And I never really managed to get away from all the violence, being held at gunpoint when I was only 16 years old while working trying to earn extra money and a host of other events that no child should ever experience. But I had survived my past.

Fast forward to September 11, 2001, I had just turned 22 years old. For the last year of my life, my morning ritual began with Miss Jean's Place, a cafe on the first floor of the law school. I would grab a cup of coffee, a cream cheese danish or blueberry muffin, and sit down with a large legal casebook in my hand ready to do what I did best, study. As I stood at the register pulling out my cash to pay, staring at the television at the same time, I saw the first plane crash into the World Trade Center. I waited for proof that this was only a commercial for an upcoming movie, but I never heard the words "In theatres on..." My chest felt tight, almost as if something or someone was holding me down. Then the second plane crashed into the World Trade Center. Tears began rolling down my eyes uncontrollably.

Classes were canceled that day. But most of us remained on campus, I'm assuming to be near each other. For the first time, I sat in a room full of legal minds in complete silence, except for CNN and Fox News blasting on large screen televisions. So many of my classmates were from New York, and you can only imagine the expressions on their faces as they tried desperately to contact family and friends. No calls were going through. There were only tears, sadness, and silence.

On September 11th, I remember thinking how none of the violence I had witnessed as a child could prepare me for the terrorism I had helplessly watched that day. Then, in the wake of 9/11, the interviewing season began; landing me in airports stripping off shoes, belts, jackets and anything else that was demanded. It was happening all over again, but instead of my childhood being stolen from me, now my freedom was being stolen from me too.

What were you doing when the first, and then second plane crashed on September 11th?