Too busy, but not too bad.

September 11 was last Thursday. I had dance after school and homework so I didn't get a chance to write anything. Most people my age don't remember much of importance from that day 7 years ago. Once again, I am not one of them. I never seem to be in the same group as a majority of normal people, so I suppose this makes perfect sense. But anyway, here we are, 7 years later. It's strange to look back on that day and think of how we were all panicking, so afraid that our lives would end at any moment, to remember the day before, when our country was enjoying the growing population and praising itself on the wonderful government. Times have changed. I can remember being in kindergarten at the Catholic school that I was at for 3 months before I dropped out. The Principal, Sister something-er-ather, came on the outdated loudspeaker and told every child from kindergarten to 12th grade, every teacher, every faculty member, and every parent volunteer what had just happened to our country. No one spoke. At the age of 5, all I knew was that something bad had happened, something that may hurt people. I thought of this in the silence until someone gasped. It was loud enough to be heard in our class from many rooms over. We all heard it. After that, some started crying. Not the little kids, but the teachers. I was still struggling to figure out what was happening. I wanted my mother more than anything. I wanted to be safe at my house, in our green family room with the black TV and my little green chair, and the long drapes that I could hide myself in. But I couldn't be. School had just started. I had to get through the day. And I did. We all did.