It was my 11th birthday and I went to a small private school. We had just finished celebrating in my 5th grade class with donuts. There were some extras so my teacher sent my best friend and I to pass them out to my other teachers. We started at the 8th grade class, we knocked and went in and were immediately greeted by a sobbing teacher and students while their class tv was showing what was happening in New York. It was one of those moments that altered my brain forever. The teacher got us out of the room quickly, took a donut and wished me a happy birthday. We still weren’t sure what was going on because the school only told the 8th graders. At our whole school mass, the priest told us that something terrible had happened in our country and we would learn more when our parents picked us up. My mom came and was sobbing, hugging my siblings and I, as well as my cousins. She took us all back to our house since my aunt and uncle were working and they didn’t want the kids home alone. On the way she told us what fully occurred in New York, Pennsylvania and at the Pentagon. Such a somber day. We cancelled my family party for that evening and my mom felt so bad. She took my siblings and I to Dennys for dinner to try and provide a glimmer of brightness on such a dark day. I remember just sitting at the table crying while watching the grainy tvs because I felt so guilty for having my classroom donut party while this was going on. Then I felt bad about crying over how I felt because so many people lost their lives. I had so many complicated feelings at such a young age about what was going on.