It was close to 9:00 a.m. when flight 11 out of Boston, Massachusetts, crashed into the north tower of the World Trade Center, tearing a gaping hole in the building and setting it afire. My first reaction was to log onto a web cam I had bookmarked from the top of the tower. Sure enough, all I got was fuzz. I smiled, thinking this wasn’t a big deal. Some kinda fluke – nobody would get hurt, right?

When United Airlines Flight 175 crashed into the south
tower of the World Trade Center and exploded, I began to
panic. My father was an airline pilot for American Airlines, and he was in New York that day. I tried his cell, but couldn’t get through. I was sure he was in the air and that his flight would be next. I tried for what seemed like hours – nothing.

If you knew my father, you’d certainly know he is proud to be a pilot. But the events that day (and what followed) wore him down – turned an older man into a much older man. It will never be the same. There’s a broken look in his eyes.