That day, twenty five years ago, the America I grew up in changed forever.

It was September 11, I'll never forget it. I turned on the TV that morning before work to catch some news, CNN I think, the first tower was on fire, smoke billowing against the background. The announcer said a plane had hit it. I was wondering about the poor people that were in the building, especially the ones above the fire. I watched longer than I should and I needed to go to work. I reached to shut off the TV and then the second plane hit the second tower. I pulled my hand from the knob. I knew immediately that this wasn't coincidence, and I also knew, almost immediately, that it was a terrorist event. I stayed home from work, and like many across the country that fateful day, I was glued to the TV.

I was as cynical then, as I am now. I knew something was off from the beginning. The 60s had taught me a deeply ingrained distrust of the government, and even though I had no idea what really was going on, the surreal event I was witnessing sent my mind reeling into a cloud of doubt, and fear. Are we under attack? Was this a coup?

Then the towers fell, straight down, into their own footsteps.