On 9/11, I was in second grade. My parents had planned a playdate for me and my friend, where I’d go to her house after school. My parents called the school that day and told them that they wanted me home. My first reaction when the teacher told me this news was pure shock that they’d take me away from such a joyous playdate. When I got home, my dad greeted my sister and I directly by the door and said, “We have some terrible news for you two.. Some people have crashed planes into some buildings in our country and killed over a thousand innocent people.” Being only 8 years old, I didn’t quite understand the news and brushed it off my shoulder fairly quickly; I was still upset about being unable to go to my friend’s house. I didn’t understand it, that is, until my parents gathered the family together that evening and had us watch the news together. I had never seen either of my parents cry so hard, and it was from then on that I knew how terrible 9/11 really was. My parents were right to keep me home from my playdate.