I don't remember things like how I was feeling, or what I said. I don't even recall if school was cancelled or not. What I do remember is my father coming home very late that night after I asked my grandmother countless times when he was returning because I didn't want to eat potatoes and green beans.
My father tells me that I asked, once I understood, "Dad, what are we going to do if Bin Laden comes to our house?" I know I had the thought, but it's very hazy and I didn't know I had actually asked about it until he said something. I was seven years old; there is no way I could have possibly fathomed the magnitude of what had occurred.
To be honest, even after living with the after-effects for more than half my life, I still don't.
Sometimes, I really don't like America. There's so much endless bickering, to the point where I refuse to become heavily involved in politics because I don't want to deal with that. I know it's selfish, but I've sat through so many heated political debates in my classrooms that became so inane because both sides stopped giving good points and simply began attacking each other instead.
And then there are moments when I'm incredibly proud to be an American, if only because most
people can set aside their differences for a national tragedy.
Here I am. Raw, unrehearsed.