For the better part of this weekend, I took a total break from school. It was very nice and very enjoyable, but I’m paying for it now. Two papers, one book and a few random assignments are even less fun if put off until the last-minute…
For those reason, I’m keeping this post short and sweet. I’m serious about the “sweet” part, too. There are cake pops involved.
Backtracking to Saturday, I headed down to the football stadium to meet up with friends for a few tailgates.
Even though I opted for water + carrots instead of beer + burgers, it was fun hanging out with friends.
Initially the plan was for Dan to come down to the game when he got off work, but he got stuck in some serious traffic and got pushed behind schedule. I wasn’t too enthusiastic about the game, so I decided just to go home after the tailgates and spend some time with Dan.
Plus, we had friends coming over later and I had to put my hostess hat on!
I’m pretty sure that our friends like Dan and me for our personalities…
But, the cake pops were definitely the most popular things at the party. It’s understandable.
We ended up having a great time, but our sleep schedules got a little off and Sunday was mostly squandered trying to make up for it.
Now, back to work!
I know it’s a day late and a dollar short, but it’s not like 9/11 should only matter on the anniversary…
In 2001, I was in sixth grade in Ohio. The first plane hit at the exact same time that my school day started. I remember a teacher coming into my home-room and telling my teacher to turn the TV on. Throughout the day, we kept getting glimpses of the TV coverage. There were also a lot of rumors floating around. One girl’s mom picked her up from school. I didn’t know what to think — before that day, I’d never even heard of the World Trade Center.
When I got home from school, however, my mom told me that my dad wasn’t coming home that night. He worked as a TV reporter for a local station and was sent out to New York to cover the effects.
Even though I knew he was safe, it was still eerie to walk around my house and see all the things he had left behind. He just thought it was another day at work and that he would be coming home for dinner.
I imagined that was what nearly 3,000 other people thought that day. Except, my dad came home a week later and those people never did.
I think a part of me grew up that day. For the first time, I also realized just how wonderful it is to be an American.
Question: Where were you on 9/11?