09/11/2026
It’s hard to overstate how much the Twin Towers meant to New Yorkers—and even more so to immigrants. Besides the Statue of Liberty, they were perhaps the most iconic symbol for those of us who chose to make America, and the Big Apple, our home. It was the skyline we grew up with—seeing it from trains coming in from Brooklyn and Queens, driving over the Verrazano or George Washington Bridge, taking the Staten Island Ferry. I’ll never forget seeing it for the first time as a child. The metaphor of “New York missing two front teeth” has always stayed with me. Even with the beautiful One World Trade Center, the skyline still doesn’t seem right. September 11, 2001 began as a beautiful autumn day: clear blue skies and crisp, mid-60s air. School had just started, and we were still excited about new classes, summer stories and showing off our new fits. Between 1st and 2nd period, we heard a plane had hit the North Tower. I assumed it was a small Cessna piloted by some drunk idiot. Then, in Social Studies, a teacher ran in and told us a second plane had hit the South Tower. I’ll never forget the look on my teacher’s face. My dad worked in Manhattan, thankfully further uptown. Many of my friends weren’t so lucky. Those of us with flip phones lent them to classmates desperately trying to reach their parents. By 3rd period, the hallways were pandemonium. The South Tower had collapsed. Classes stopped. We sheltered in place. I remember ash falling nearly 10 miles from Ground Zero, the smell of fire, and the school PA announcing parents arriving for their children. One often-forgotten story is the maritime evacuation of Lower Manhattan, when hundreds of civilian boats helped evacuate more than 500,000 people. Behind every one of the 2,977 victims was a story. Never forget those who died. The firefighters, police, paramedics, volunteers and rescue dogs who ran toward danger while others ran away. 🇺🇸
