Sept. 11th 2001:
My job with EDS, at a local call center doing CST work for HP on their Photosmart products, had ended just a few weeks before on the 30th of August.
Although I didn't need to, I awoke early and placed a call to my girlfriend - kinda common actually, calling to wake her up before she went into work - and I turned the TV, more specifically to the news, which is something I very rarely watch.
I can't really stand hypocrisy, which at times the media has truly flowering in their mannerisms.
I saw the replay of the first plan, as I'm in Idaho so, thusly, Mountain Time.
Sometimes I'm still at a loss for words, not that they are hard to come to my mind and lips, but more that I still cannot truly fathom the depth of it all.
I do know, however, that there was no doubt, to me, that this was a terrorist incident - not only were the odds of two planes striking those towers, on the same day, to great, but the flight patterns really didn't support it.
In a way it was weird how that popped in my mind, it was very surreal to be watching the events unfold and then some piece of detached logic appear in thoughts.
One fell, then the other, and I just could not fathom any of it. Many of my thoughts were very rational, although one thought I had was a wish for super-heroes - which, to me anyways, came true since the fact that anyone could survive the attacks was proof, in my heart and mind.
I guess the pure innocence of childhood holds more wisdom then we thought, since it's then that we wish to be policemen and firemen, or person(s) if you wish, when we grow up.
I sat on the couch all day, just watching the news, and all night.
Part of me just wanted to be there, in the city helping out - heck, the whole reason I joined the Marines was to help my country - but I couldn't be there, the best I could do was witness this, donate when and what I could, and commit the whole event to memory.
It's not just to read about this in history books, or news paper archives, but to have actually lived in the time...it's just different.
Talk to someone who lived through the depression, as it is surreal to hear it from their lips.
Or someone from the WWII generations, when they talk about Pearl Harbor, it's battles, and the cost of it all.
Or to Jews that lived through the holocaust, again it's just different to hear it from those who experienced it.
None of those are truly the same, as suffering is so frustrating in it's ability to be comprised of varied flavors.
I'll admit that I cried, in fact I still do from time to time when it comes to these events.
Stories of the dead make me cry, as I can relate to those children who will grow up with only one parent.
Those of the heroes, living and dead bring tears to my eyes and pull at my heart. I'd like to think I could do what they did if I would have had to, in fact more so I feel if I had to that I will do as they had done, since it would be so tragic to ignore such a shining example of the 'human spirit'.
Basically I cried, I watched, I remembered, and I learned from that day.
People, regardless of ethnic origins, can be better then we normally are, as well as worse, because when you break it down to the simplest of factors we saw two things that day - the worst of us and the best of us. Period.
[edited for spelling errors and an addendum]