This is September 11th. No use not talking about it, what with all the TV specials and everything, although from my perspective, perhaps this is the least talkative year I can remember.
Okay. I was in my senior year at the University of Georgia. I was booking it to the dining hall so as not to miss breakfast. Two guys walking the opposite direction were talking about a plane crash in New York. I kept going, wondering what a plane crash in New York (state, I presumed) had to do with any of us. A dozen years later, it's still doing to us. You know?
That was the moment I heard. Understanding only came about an hour later, after I stepped out of a lab and people were frantically wheeling televisions into offices, unrolling extension cords, and screaming into phones.
I don't want to tell the whole story. Everyone has one. Mine, not so special. Maybe next year.
I still feel a little like a douche bag for my initial thoughts, and a few others later. Over the years, maybe I've tried compensating a little by paying more attention to regular plane crashes and other disasters. Not that much has happened that matches that day in September.