Adding my memories:

My little brother woke me up that morning. Said that the Twin Towers were falling down. It was just the start of my sophomore year in high school in the SF Bay area. My first real indication that everything was going bad was that the T.V was on. Mom never allowed it on in the mornings before school.

I managed to get out of bed and get downstairs in my underwear and was just able to see the second plane hit. Mom's face went grey. Dad was in the kitchen. Mom said the magic word that told everyone in the family that things were officially bad:

"Oh ... fuck"

Mom never cursed. I remember looking at my siblings, we were more in shock that Mom even knew curse words. Then we all got pulled into the kitchen too.

It didn't help that Grandpa was dying in Tuscon. Lots of strokes from years of smoking. Mom and my aunt were planning on going that day to Arizona, but, very obviously, we knew that wasn't going to be by plane now. There were a lot of calls back and forth on the landline in trying to figure out how they were going to get down there.

The T.V. was reporting all kinds of crazy stuff too. The pentagon, something in Pennsylvania. We just watched and tried to eat breakfast.

Mom and Dad, bless them, had no idea what to do either. So they managed to get all the cash and valuables in the house and split it up five ways, a portion for each of us. It was a lot of money and jewellery. I remember getting a solid silver elephant, about three inches across, that Dad had gotten for Mom some year. I never did bring myself to actually counting it. Dad shoved all the cash into our backpacks. We figured that going to school wouldn't be a bad idea. My High school and my sibling's schools were all around the same place, right next to the police station.

Dad brought me into the garage, gave me his 1911 and a spare loaded magazine. It was so heavy and cold. He showed me how to turn the safety off. How to press the magazine release. How to slide it back to cock it and pull the bullet out. I remember thinking that those bullets were really big. Told me:

"You're a man now. Whatever happens, you are responsible for your siblings. Don't use this unless you have no other choice."

We put it in the bottom of my backpack with all the cash. I remember thinking that I was a real gangster now.

We all agreed that we'd meet up in Tuscon at my Uncle's place in exactly one year if everything went to hell. I had no idea what the address was, but I said I'd get my siblings there no matter what. We said goodbye to Mom. She went and pick up my aunt and and they drove to Tuscon. Managed to see Grandpa just before he died that day. They must have driven crazy fast to have made it in time.

School was a blur. Mostly just watching the TVs on carts or up in the corner of the room. Some teachers tried teaching, that was pointless, we all knew it. But we had no better ideas either.

Dad picked us up from school that day. Another strange event, it was always Mom that picked us up. He said we were going to have apple pie and hot dogs for dinner, because that was more American. We only had hot dogs because Dad can't bake. I don't remember giving Dad back the pistol, but must have.

Went to scouts that night with the whole family. A lot of people brought the whole family to scouts that night. I remember one of the kid's Dads talking about his friends in NYC. He started to well up, but fought it back. We all knew it was because he thought that us kiddos couldn't be seeing him cry too, needed to stay tough in the chaos. It was alright though, we all understood. Later on, one of his sons, a few years younger than me, joined the Marines. He died in Iraq. They said his head exploded like a Gallagher watermelon when the sniper's bullet hit. Another kid in the troop, about the same age, 'cleaned his gun wrong' on Paris Island because he couldn't handle the Marines. Lost a few people in my graduating class too. My best friend's cousin died in Afghanistan. The family have always blamed Bush for that.

I remember Grandpa's funeral. He was a colonel or somesuch in the Air Force. So we got to have the funeral on the Air Base there in Arizona really soon afterwards. I remember all the guns pointed at our heads as we drove on to the base. Having to weave through all the barricades. He manged to get a spot in Arlington, one of my uncles pulled some strings and got Grandpa a place. I didn't go to the internment, but there was a 14 gun salute, my Mom said. A real honor, I'm told.

One of my older cousins on my Mom's side decided to up and drive to Ground Zero to help out. He was helping dig through the debris for a while. He never talked about going out there and helping though.

My Uncle, the one that pulled the strings for Grandpa's internment, was near the Pentagon that day, had to walk through the smoke to get back home. He said it was really bad smelling because they used horse hair for insulation in the Pentagon.

I always put up the flag on 9/11, for Grandpa and for everyone else and for all my friends that died because of what it kicked off. It's not much, but it's something.

I don't know how to end this. I just wanted to share some of what happened to me that day and in the time afterwards. Thanks for reading.