The day of 9/11, I was sitting in my 5th grade math class. While I was figuring out long division, I started noticing students getting picked up by their parents. My parents worked in central Houston while we lived in the suburbs, 45 minutes away. My mother was a teacher and couldn’t get off work until 6:30. Once 4 p.m. hit, I was one of the few students left in my classroom.
I was confused and had no idea what was going on. All I knew is that I was mad that all my friends got to leave early, while I was stuck in after school care. Finally around 4:30, my grandparents came and picked me up since my mom could not.
They were silent, which was normal for my grandfather but out of the ordinary for my chatterbox grandmother. They took me to get donuts and then we went home and sat in front of the television.
Every part of it was confusing to a fifth grader, but I knew that something horrible happened. When my mom explained it to me, fear entered my mind, but I knew I was okay if my mom was still with me.
I think that 9/11 is one of those days that nobody forgets. Something that tragic will always stay in your memories, no matter the age.