I am a New Yorker. It’s cause me nothing but grief since I moved to New England, aka “The enemy of anything associated with the Devil Team that is the Yankees,” but in my heart of hearts, no matter how much I like New England, I am a New Yorker through and through.
It’s days like today, September 11th, 2009, that make me even more aware of that fact. Eight years ago there was a terrible, terrible attack on my country, but even worse, the attack was on my home. I hate that today is not a day of memorial, but then, I am a New Yorker, and the memory hurts more than it might for many others.
Everyone remembers where they were when Kennedy died.
I can never forget having my roommate turn on the television in a rare moment of clairvoyance just in time to watch the first, then second, plane hit.
I can never forget leaving my dorm room and knocking on doors up and down the hallways, waking people up and telling them to turn on their TVs; these were their families being shown on the screen, falling or jumping out of 80th floor windows.
I can never forget the fury amongst the students forced to go to classes while needing to find out if their loved ones living in the city were safe.
So, since I can’t forget, I’ll remember.
To my friend who left his hotel room in the City to watch the first, then second plane crash, and lost all semblance of a normal life after that, I remember for you.
For my college roommate whose father stopped to take a phone call outside the Trade Towers and lost his eyebrows instead of his life, I remember for you.
For the hundreds, thousands of students at UAlbany who had to wait in fear to find out if their families, living hours away in the city, were still alive, I remember for you.
For the students who lost their loved ones, for all the people who lost their loved ones, I remember for you.
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