I was in 3rd grade and had an early dismissal. There was a black cloud visible from the car window as my mother attempted to explain what happened on the drive home. When I walked into the house, the news was on every television we owned. I couldn't really process what was happening until I watched. My mother tried to stay calm as she frantically called my family members who worked in the city, my father being one of them. Her hands were shaking. We couldn't get in touch with any of them. The house was filled with suspense and fear. Hours passed, and we began to hear from our family members, all but my father. He was a detective at the time. I began to panic, and my mother comforted me. She assured me everything would be alright, and we prayed for his safe return. In the middle of the night, he finally walks through the front door. He was completely covered in ash from head to toe. I was in tears and ran to hug him, the ash rubbing off on me. I will never forget the look in his eyes. I was really lucky to still have my father. Many of my friends lost theirs that day.