Patterns for College Writing Essay

I spent the night before contemplating how I was going away to get out of school on Thurs twenty-four hours. There was a social studies test I didnt study for and I only could not beam another day of dodge ball. On the morning of September 11, 2001 I woke up sick. I pleaded with my get down, and took a fake trip to the bathroom because I was going to vomit. Finally, I was allowed to stay home. At 600 am, I was ordered to go back to sleep and I did. I looked forward to my day alone as I lingered between sleeping and waking pondering how I was going to fill my day with snacks, computer games, and loud music. September 11, 2001 began as a childhood scheme and it ended with me growing up. I dozed much of the morning and awoke to the sound of my brothers radio alarm going off. It was thorium and he shouldnt be home. I pouted as I slowly got out of bed to see if I was truly alone. I walked down the mansion house and stopped briefly at the bathroom and then into my brothers room. He w as gone, and the alarm had been set wrong. The people on the radio droned on and on. I wandered some the room hoping to find a magazine that I let brat borrow weeks ago.As I was on my knees peaking under the bed the wrangle on the radio became clear. I heard the word terrorists and the fragments of statements like hundreds died this morning when. Then, I could only hear my heart beat in my ears. I got to my feet and for the setoff time since being a child, I felt real panic. The sort of panic you feel when you are four and you have wandered away from your parents. Once I caught my breath I do my way to the family room, frantically searching for the remote. I turned on the television to MSNBC and the first image I saw was a man jumping from a broken window of one of the twin towers. I was baffled and this would be the image that would haunt my dreams, my waking memories, and what it meant to be an the Statesn. I heard the details over and over again. The errorists had hijacked thr ee planes and deliberately crashed them into the Pentagon and the Twin Towers. The video clips played again and again on the news. The smoke filled horizons around the crumbling buildings. Paper was flying everywhere and the sound of heart broken people wailing in the background filled the screen. I stared and there were moments where I theme it might be a movie and all I had to do was change the channel. The phone must of rang a dozen times before I answered it It was my mother on the other end, asking me again and again if I was ok. She told me she would be home soon. I waited, though I did not k straight for what, and watched. The Towers were now in flames as the reporters spoke in what seem like whispers. Their words almost silenced but the sound of a city slowly dying. I remember hearing the back door open and close, and my mother sitting down next to me. It was the first time since I was a child that she held my mass and I let her. Stunned, we sat together as the news report ed that at 840 am the terrorists crashed planes into the World Trade Center. It was hard to comprehend. My mother cried and I cried too except on the inside. I watched her body shake as she twisted her ring around and around her finger. My mother, who could out talk just slightly everyone we knew, was speechless. It was then that I understood she was scared too. I hugged my mother and told her everything would be all right. I told her we would be safe and that we had each other. I made us coffee and we spent much of the afternoon talking about what happened, what could happen, and what we would do. What we spoke about most was why. why did the terrorists hate America? Why did people kill other people for no apparent reason? Comforting my mother in the ways she had comforted me for so many years, came by luck to me. Over the next few months we followed the story as did the world. I can remember President Bush attempting to comfort the united States and telling us America would be going to war for reasons that werent clear to me then and certainly arent clear to me now. Suddenly video games and staying home from school just werent important anymore. Dodge ball did not seem so bad. Instead of hiding from my parents I sought them out, wanting to discuss my day and theirs together. I do not believe what does not kill us makes us stronger. However, I think that what does not kill us makes truly value what we have in life and to realize how much our family and friends mean to us. My family and I became very active in volunteer activities especially with the Red Cross. We donated bottled water, clothing, blankets, and food. Our community held local charity events to remonstrate money for the victims of September 11 including those firemen and police officers who gave their lives in the fires of 9/11. It was the first time I or my family had ever become involved in activities that did not directly benefits ourselves. The sense of community and patriotism that was built in the months following the terrorists attacks still exists with me today. We now volunteer regularly as a family for a deed of charities. Through the destruction of the Twin Towers, I finally understood my place and role in society. Not as a bystander but an active and unstrained participant. On September 11, 2001 many people lost their lives and I gained my independence from childhood fantasies. Before that Thursday in September, I never thought about life and death. I never considered the consequences of war and the denial of freedoms. Now that I am older, I realize that September 11, 2001 was not just pivotal focalize for me but America itself. Not since Pearl Harbor had the United States been unexpectedly attacked on its own land. Just as families pulled together so did the United States as a whole. We cried together and we healed together. To actually witness the attacks was life changing but to be part of the healing process was life affirming.BibliograhyBerne, S. (2 004). grime Zero. In S. Mandell, and Kirszner, L. (Eds.), Patterns for College Writing A Rhetorical Reader and Guide (pp. 158-161). New York, NY St. Martins Press.