I still cry, when I remember what happened six years ago today, and since that day I can’t sing our National Anthem or America the Beautiful without tears.  

I remember sitting in front of the TV, for days, and feeling guilty for turning it off or walking away, because those who were there couldn’t. They were stuck and had to deal with it. I didn’t want them to be alone. 

Call me blind or naive, but until that day I truly didn’t believe anyone would dare attack us. After all, we are the United States of America, and messing with us is a little like doing burnouts on the lawn of your huge, redneck neighbor, who keeps enough weaponry in his house to make the NRA blush.  

Now I know that we’re vulnerable; there are people out there who hate us and are patiently waiting to destroy us. It’s changed how I relate to people, made me less trusting and quicker to judge based on a person’s nationality. It makes me ashamed when I hear about racial profiling and my first thought is, “Yea well, it wasn’t blonde Nordic types that blew up the towers.”  

It’s also made me react more quickly when someone is in trouble, more likely to jump in and help in a disaster, like the ones we’ve had lately because of the weather. I don’t want them to be alone.