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My parents and teachers say that I am too young to remember 9/11, and no one else my age has any memories of that day. But for some reason, I remember almost every detail of that day. It was a bright, bright day, one of the those days when it is almost too sunny. I was picked up early from preschool, very shortly after I got there. My mom was very distressed. When I got home, I watched clouds of black smoke billow out of two skyscrapers on a small TV. My mom was crying. I didn't know why. I then ate my lunch while she frantically called my older sister's school and asked if the kids would be sent home, and then got angry when they said no. I was frightened seeing my mom angry and crying and that horrible dark black smoke. To cheer me up, we went to a park where I happily played while thousands of people lost their lives. I was four.