I was in my classroom. No kids were there at the time. The announcement came over the PA that a plane hit the WTC. When they realized it was an attack, teachers were told to keep the kids in their classrooms. I happened to have cable in the classroom for a Kidz News project. I watched the whole thing. It was surreal. Seeing people jump. Hearing people who were trapped above the planes and could not get out. Realizing there would be no survivors. It was so horrible. My son, in school about 20 miles north of the city, wasn't allowed to go home because they didn't know if I was okay.
Driving home was tough. All streets were closed in Manhattan, except Broadway, which was lined with police and military. All buses out of the city were canceled and no one was allowed to walk across bridges or tunnels. When I got to the George Washington Bridge, the streets and sidewalks were teaming with people trying to leave the city. Everyone was beating on windows and windshields pleading to take them across the bridge. It was terrifying! If I wasn't alone, I would have taken some. I was so afraid of getting carjacked. I felt very guilty about that, but eventually everyone got home. My priority was getting my son.
It was such a sad, horrible day. That night, the apartment under me was having a loud, joyous celebration. They were Egyptian Muslims. I just couldn't believe it. Maybe it was for something else.
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