Tradegy through a child's eyes 

Date Submitted: 9/11/2015
Author Info: Malcolm (Newark, NJ - USA) 
Occupation: Student 
Lived in NY on 9.11.01?: No 
Knew someone who perished?: No 

«« Back

I was 10 years old in my 5th grade class. My teacher Mr. Peters had stepped out to talk to the principal. I was sitting at my desk, trying to ignore my classmates' teasing me about my crush on one of my friends, Samantha. Mr. Peters came back inside, white as a ghost. When we asked what was wrong, He told us exactly what had happened. I went to the bathroom afterwards, kids were crying and screaming. Teachers were trying to control the chaos. My babysitter picked me and her son Rueben up from school. I went to her house and prayed that no one from my family was in New York that day. When my mother, brother, and sister came home, I hugged them for as long as possible. We spent the night in our mother's bed, watching the news. I may have been young, but I understood perfectly what was going on. I will always remember 9/11. GOD BLESS US EVERYONE! 


Naivity of a 4th Grader

Estevan (Chama, NM - USA)

Senior in High School

Brian (Germantown, MD - USA)

Coming home from doctor in delaware

Jake (Woodlyn, PA, United States - USA)

Where was I and where I am now

Jack (chicago , IL - USA)

9/11 for me

Jennifer (Whitesville, Ky, United States - USA)

My lucky

Larry (New-York - USA)

My 9/11 Story

Sean (Stamford , CT, United States - USA)

What I was doing

Frances (Las Vegas - USA)

5,100 Miles Too Far Away

Carolina (Agawam, MA - USA)

Another War

Valerie (Sacramento, CA - USA)

They sent us home

Emma (Beacon, Ny - USA)

Getting ready to play some Playstation 2.

Mike (San Francisco - Africa)

I Remember

Tammi (Altamonte Springs, Fl - USA)

Fear Got a Little Closer to Home

Paige (Oklahoma City - USA)

Even in Alaska

Candace (Seattle , WA - USA)

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Those who die innocent deaths never really die. They are everywhere; we just don't see them in quite the same way. And the culmination of what they were and what their death meant is as prevalent and tangible as the warmth in your soul and the sorrow in your heart.

Imran (story excerpt)


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