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I was in 8th grade when 9/11 happened and living in Marietta, Georgia. It must have been noon since we were filing back into our classroom after lunch. My teacher, Mrs. Pepper, told us what had happened. Two planes had crashed into the WTC and one of the buildings had collapsed. Most of us didn't know what the WTC was but did knew they were a tallest building in NYC-- they were what made up the beautiful skyline of NYC.

The kid behind me, who was the class clown, made a joke. He didn't know how serious it was. How were we suppose to know how serious something like that was? It wasn't a malicious 'joke' but one of shock to our teacher. I will always remember his tone and I'm sure he will to. It wasn't a joke meant to be funny, looking back, I realize that he was trying to lighten the mood of the room because I knew he was afraid.

I didn't know anyone who died but when I got to college knew someone who had lost his aunt. Since working at Mason, I've known more who lost someone or knew someone who died in the Pentagon.

The scariest part of that day was not knowing if they would go after the Bank of America building in Atlanta. It's the tallest building in Atlanta. The 'Big Pencil' they call it. My dad worked in the building, second floor. He wasn't there. He was at home watching the TV.

I was so angry that something like this could happen. I'm still angry.

When I got home, he was on the phone with my aunt who sometimes works in the NYC. She wasn't there either. I thank God for that when I think of 9/11. That they didn't go after the CDC that is so close to my childhood home and that she wasn't in NYC.

This is the first time I've ever written this down. Thank you for having the digital archives. Telling the story is a part of healing.