I was in third grade at the time, all the kids were leaving school and no one knew why. Maybe the teachers knew, but they didn't say anything to us. My mom didn't pick us up (my sister was in the same school in 5th grade), but when we got home we saw what had happened. I didn't understand it at the time. My dad was on a plane that day going to Boston. We didn't know if he was dead or not at first, we didn't know anything. All I remember was that for all I knew my dad was dead. As a little kid, I just put airplane and crash together with my dad.

The next day my teacher tried to explain it to us, and she got through pretty well. Some people were crying, I was upset but I didn't cry much. I just remember how they kept replaying and replaying the footage for weeks.

My dad came home the next day, he rented a car and drove all the way home with his boss and whoever else went on the trip. He didn't feel safe staying in a major city, and he didn't want to leave his family again for awhile. Funny how he has not been on a business trip since. He knew some people in the towers, he spent alot of time in the City the next couple of weeks (he still works and for as long as I remember has worked for IT for the NYC). That's all I really remember.