On September 11, 2001, I was in the third grade, and at the time I was only 8 years old. I woke up and got ready for school with my older brother. We rode the bus to school like every other day. Around 8:46 (which was when the first plane hit) I heard a loud boom, but assumed it was nothing. A short while later the principal came over the intercom and told us to bring everyone into the hallways. I went out into the hallway with my best friend Natalie. The teachers came around telling students that their parents where there to pick them up. My teacher Mrs. Ferguson came up to me and told me I had to go home. My mom also picked up my best friend Natalie and obviously my brother. When we got in the car she told us what had happened and that Natalie’s dad was missing along with her little sister, Julian. Natalie told us that her dad had taken Julian to tour the WTC because she had finally gotten old enough to remember it. Natalie started crying in the back seat of my car while my mother drove me home to my house. I asked where my dad was and she told me that he was at home and he was okay. We later found out that Natalie’s dad and her sister Julian had perished in the North Tower when it collapsed. It was a horrible, terrible day.