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My younger brother was locked down at his high school while my older brother in Eighty-Second Airborne was getting the news that would eventually lead to war.
By Stephen Roberts, The Federalist, September 10, 2016
I stood upon the back of a ferry as it coasted through choppy waters, enjoying the view of the two largest buildings in America on my way to the Statue of Liberty. It was my senior year of high school in the DC suburbs, and this was my first time ever visiting these historic sites in New York. I still look at some old photographs from that time. The skies around the World Trade Center were clear and blue, much like they would be on that fateful day a year later.
When 9/11 hit about a year later, I was a freshman in college in Grand Rapids, Michigan. The day began with my first-ever political science class. “Who else here wants to be president some day?” I asked my new classmates on my first day of Political Science 101. A few other hands rose into the air. Brimming with ambition on my way back to the dorm afterward, I noticed people walking passed me with almost-ghoulish expressions. I finally asked one guy, “Is something wrong?” “Dude, just turn on the TV.” I raced back to my room and turned on the TV in time to see the first tower go down.
The word quickly came in that the Pentagon had been hit as well, and maybe other sites in Washington DC. I frantically tried calling my family back in the DC area, but with thousands of others hoping for word from loved ones there I had a hard time getting through. Finally, I got word that several in my family were leaving the city behind on foot with smoke in the skyline behind them and sirens everywhere. My younger brother was locked down at his high school while my older brother in Eighty-Second Airborne was getting the news that would eventually lead to war. ….