I was standing in front of a group of university international students for the first day of my English as a Second Language class. As we were going over the syllabus, someone came in and said we were under attack.
I didn’t believe them at first, of course, until I went in the next room, sat in a desk, and watched the second plane crash into the second tower.
I was stunned, my mouth open in disbelief.
I went back to my class, told them they were dismissed because my country was under attack, and I went back to the TV in the next room.
Next, we heard about the Pentagon being attacked.
As we sat in silence and watched the unfolding horror, the North Tower imploded.
A few minutes later, the South Tower fell.
Not for the loss of the towers. For the loss of lives. The unfathomable loss of lives.
I sat and watched more, in the presence of friends and strangers until I felt compelled to make sure that my family was safe. Thankfully, they were, except for their mindsets being forever changed.
After that, I heard Flight 93 went down. Would this ever end?
It did. But it didn’t.
I know we all know where we were that day and what we were doing.
Where were you when the world stopped turning?