I'm sure everyone remembers exactly what they were doing on that fateful morning 14 years ago; exactly what they were wearing, and exactly what the next few weeks would bring. Those feelings came to light today immediately when I thought of that ordinary Tuesday morning when all hell broke loose.
I got up, ate breakfast and prepared to head to my first class of the day - US History after 1945. Class wasn't until 11 so IT had already happened before class started. But we all went, not knowing exactly what it was we were supposed to do. The professor didn't know and we were too stunned to tell him so we sat in class for almost 2 hours learning about something I'm sure was important, but for the life of me I have no idea what it was. He apologized the next class - he just didn't know and wished we would have said something. But that dazed and confused feeling will always stick with me when someone asks me the "where were you when?" question.
As painful as the memories of that day and the following months are, it's good that we feel them so strongly. These feelings will never allow us to forget those we lost that day.
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