Reflection on 9/11
I was 10 years old and sitting at my desk in the 5th-grade classroom of St. Pius X Elementary School. Suddenly the PA system called for one of my classmates to go to the office because her mother was there to take her home. "What?" the classmate said. "I'm not supposed to go home early today." She headed to the office for an explanation, and didn't come back. A few minutes later, Sister Dorothy, a 74-year-old nun who led the school's religious education, came into the room unexpectedly. "Children, we've just heard there's an emergency in New York City and in Washington. We don't know any details, but we've been told to pray for them. Everyone stand up." She lit a candle while we stood, folded our hands, and bowed our heads in prayer. I saw a tear splash down the front of my plaid jumper: that's how I found out that I was crying. Our teacher sent us to Language Arts class across the hall, as planned. I was crying too hard