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I can’t say I remember it, but I had just celebrated my fifth birthday.
My parents, like all others, gave me some presents. I’d wager that there was also a Dairy Queen ice cream cake involved at some point.
It had to have been a happy day.
Four planes had been hijacked by Al-Qaeda, two of them destroying the World Trade Center, one smashing into the Pentagon, and one crash landing into a field in rural Pennsylvania.
Too young to remember the attacks for myself, I had to have been just as confused about the magnitude of the situation as every other child in the country.
Over the years, video of the attacks slowly but surely would be ingrained into my memory, filling in the blanks that eluded my younger mind.Firefighters about to be engulfed by a massive dust cloud. Police running over piles of shattered concrete and tangled, twisted metal beams. Dispatch call audio being played over alternating camera feeds of New York City….
