power of the pen 2

It was September 11, 2001 a normal sunny and hot day in LA. It was Tuesday morning, so I was getting ready for school. My mom put my wavy blonde hair in a ponytail; I was only eight at the time so my ponytails weren’t the best. She led me downstairs and we got in a taxi heading for the school. My dad was at Boston visiting his parents and was coming home today! He said he would take me out of school when he got home and we would go and get some ice cream. We did our normal morning routine, which involves putting our lunches in our special bin and taking attendance. Time had passed and I was in art class. It was still early in the morning. I looked at the analog clock and saw the little hand almost at 9. A teacher ran in and whispered to the other teacher. They both looked horrified and turned on the news. All of the children were watching to, apparently it wasn’t top priority to keep us from watching. There was a burning building and a lot of screaming. I was horrified I started to cry, my dad didn’t even cross my mind. I guess I thought like every day he would be at work accepting and declining people’s loans. I looked around at my classmates others were crying too. We were rushed home by buses and taxis. There was nobody outside, the town was eerie and diffidently not its usual busy and crowded self. When my mom came and got me she was crying and didn’t really understand until we got home. She sat on the couch and pulled me on her lap. She told me that daddy was on one of the planes that crashed. We sat like that for the whole night crying and eventually we fell asleep.
10 years later
We learned about it in school. It was all over the internet the videos replaying in my mind. It was September 11, 2011. The 10 year anniversary of the day I lost my dad. To others it was just the day that this event was remembered, honored and forgiving. This was not the same for me I had to learn about it in school, watch the videos in class of my dad being killed tears escaping my eyes. As I looked around I saw my other classmates, the same ones who were in my class when it was 2001,crying, but I knew that they were crying because it was sad. They don’t have to bear the consequences of that plane getting hijacked, or watch the videos replays over and over in my mind. They never knew I had lost my dad, the one who promised me ice cream as soon as he got home. They never knew my dad was on flight 175 and crashed into the south tower killing thousands. I wished I never knew too.