i was only eight years old.

I was only eight years old. I was in Ms. Floyd's class at Oak View Elementary. 

My friend Mckenzie told me that her dad was going on a business trip, and she didn't want him to go. She was so happy when he surprised her by coming to have lunch with her to tell her he wasn't going after all. 

My friend Alex, along with several other students, got out of class early, and when we all asked her why, she said she didn't know. We all then collectively sighed, she was lucky, we thought. 

Something was wrong with my teacher, she had to leave for a little while an administrator watched our class. It was strange, yes, but when you're eight years old, you don't catch on to much at the moment. Your head is too full of pretty little thoughts. 

I know now that they were telling her. My older brother found out at school, too, but I guess we were too young, too young to hear that there were some people who wanted to hurt us. Who wanted to kill thousands of innocent people just to try and prove a point.

I remember walking in the front door after school with my brother, and my mom was there. 

"Something really bad happened," she said. 

The first thing out of my mouth was, "Is dad dead?" because he wasn't there. 

"No"

And my little head wasn't worried anymore. If my dad wasn't dead, I didn't know what else could possibly be wrong. 

I remember her turning on the tv, and the images of 2 planes crashing into 2 buildings in a city that only existed like a far-off memory played and replayed on the screen, like a sick and twisted broken record. 

I don't remember what my mom told me to try and make me understand; I was only eight years old. 

I didn't know what was going on, but I remember the images. I remember not understanding what they meant, but I knew it was wrong.

And to an eight year old, that was that. I did my homework, I went and played outside, and life went on. Yet, something was wrong. At school the next day I remember seeing piles of rubble and firemen trying to help people out, I just wanted them to turn it off. Why would they show us something like this? I still didn't understand. 

They say that my generation will be the last to really remember what happened on September 11, 2001. That we will tell our children, "I was there. I saw the planes fly into the towers. I saw the rubble and the destruction and the grief." 

But that's a lie. I can tell you I saw it. I can tell you it was mean, but that's about all I remember from that day. 

I was only eight years old.

I didn't know that there were firemen who heard about the news from across the way, and started running. They started running and ran across the Brooklyn Bridge. They ran through the city, towards the towers, towards their eminent death, against all of the people who were running away from it, screaming for their lives and their loved ones.

I didn’t know how it must have felt because there were firemen, policemen, and countless others who ran into the buildings, but I know that when they ran into those fiery tombs that they knew there was no chance they were going to come back out.

I didn’t know that there was a priest standing at the door of his church blessing every man and woman who ran into that building, because not only did they know they weren’t going to make it back out, but everyone else did, too.

I was only eight years old on the day that New York, no America, had its heart torn out. On the day that some really mean people tried to destroy the greatest nation in the world.

But what those mean people didn’t know is how, in the face of heartache and terror and grief, we Americans don’t fall apart. We become stronger. We pull together, and protect each other, because that’s what Americans do. And it’s sad that those mean people didn’t know that fact, because maybe history would be different.

Maybe wives would still have their husbands, and children would still have their moms and dads.

But we are the United States of America, and we would survive. And we would never, ever forget. And I knew that.

And I was only eight years old.

"Dedicated to those who fell, and those who carry on."

And even though the world is evil, dangerous, and cruel, life is still beautiful. It can be long, it can be short, but we need to live it to the fullest, remembering those who sacrificed their lives in order to make ours more beautiful.

“Freedom itself was attacked this morning by a faceless coward and freedom will be defended. We will not tire, we will not falter, and we will not fail.” -George W. Bush