Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning...

I was in the 6th grade. I was sitting in either homeroom or computer class (I forget, because they were both the same classroom). Our gym teacher ran in, and shouted to our teacher to turn on the television. Me and 20+ other classmates watched as one of the towers burned. Soon after, the second plane hit. We were all so young we didn't know what was going on, but we could look at our teachers wet eyes and know that whatever was happening wasn't good. We weren't released right after it happened, but not many classes resumed their planned activities. I remember walking into the band class and seeing a girl talking to our teacher, crying. Somebody she knew was either in or near the towers. I didn't hear who, or exactly where. I remember coming home that day (early), and watching the news. I was just standing in front of the television watching what I had seen earlier that day happen over and over again. By then I was able to hear what exactly was going on. There had been a terrorist attack. I wasn't entirely sure what terrorist were, I had never heard of Al Queda, or Osama Bin Laden. I didn't know that this day would affect me so closely. It didn't, after all, for another 6 years.

This day, the day America went to war, would be the day that shaped my adulthood. The day that would make my future husband join the military 5 years later. The day that would mold my days of marrying a regular "civilian" who would be in school to be a veterinarian, pilot, or some type of mechanic were no longer part of the master plan. I would marry a Marine. I would sleep alone. I would be forced to be a more independent woman. I was no longer "allowed" to be the traditional wife who did house chores and had dinner ready at 6pm every night, right as her husband walked in the door... at least not 6-11 months every other year. I would be a patient, loyal, and sometimes lonely woman. I would wash flight suits and camis. I would wait for those two little words, "fall out", and then run into the arms of the man I loved after 7 long months apart. I would sit here, alone, in house with two dogs who wait by the door every day for their daddy to come home for the first time in 167 days knowing he wouldn't be home for at least another 5 months. I would be writing about a day that forever would change my life, ten years after it happened. I would be proud of the country that I live in, the people I am surrounded by, and the man I married who was selfless enough to give himself to his country.