On 9/11/2001 I was only in Kindergarten. I know, I know, you don’t remember much from when you were that little, but I promise, I remember exactly what I was doing.

Right after the first plane hit, I was checked out from school. All my friends had been checked out almost immediately. As I walked down the hall with my mom, I remember asking where we were going. She never did answer my innocent question. When I got home, my parents had CNN blaring from the living room TV. My sister was watching intently, while I casually found my toys to start playing with.

We lived on a military base in Georgia at this time too, so 9/11 was especially scary in our community. While I was absentmindedly playing toy soldiers, my dad was ironing his Uniform. He was an 11 year Army serviceman. I can vaguely remember asking him to sit down and play soldiers with me, but he was ironing and watching the TV non stop. He just kept shaking his head, ignoring my pleas for a playmate. He then left, since all the active soldiers on base were going to prepare in case another crash, or bombing happened. He got dressed, and left as my mom sat and watched. She was cleaning up from my baby brother’s birthday party the day before. Little did we know the day of the party what terror would unfold the next day.

Oddly, I don’t remember much of anything else from my kindergarten year. I was 5, in kindergarten and as normal as could be. Yet, from that whole year that is the one thing I remember as clearly, and vividly as if it happened yesterday. At the time, I didn’t realize how big of a deal it was. And I didn’t realize for a long time. I am now 17, and a senior in high school, and every 9/11, I find myself thinking back to that warm, September Tuesday, as if it was just last week.