"Come here," he said during a pause of eating.
Wrapped in a towel I walked forward, curious to see what he was so intently looking at.
And then I saw it. The news. The airliner that hit the World Trade Centers.
"What is that? What's happening?" I asked.
I don't remember what my dad told me, but it must have been something along the lines of "terrorists," "New York City," and "the World Trade Center."
All my seventh grade teachers that day talked to us about what was happening. They even put the TV on and played the news. In between classes my friends and I spoke in hush tones about what was happening on the other side of the country -- who knew someone who knew someone who might live in New York.
I didn't know anybody who lived in New York, but I did understand the magnitude of what had just happened. Surprisingly, even at 12, I understand the attack affected more people than just the victims. In my journal, I wrote about how I felt sorry for Muslims because I knew they would be persecuted for something they had nothing to do with. I wrote poems about the sense of unity and grief the whole country was feeling.
I remember praying to God and asking him for mercy and peace for others, and 10 years later, I'm still doing that.
And honestly...I know He's listening:
Where were you? How did you feel? How did you react?