9/11 is coming up in four days, and I wanted to write something for it. I am very politically-minded, and I have been for most of my life. But like everybody else, I didn't start out that way. 9/11 changed me, and I would like to think that it was for the better.

It is true when we said, "We Will Never Forget." You cannot forget something like that. It's impossible. It's also true when people say that you remember everything that day: what you were wearing, what you were doing, how you felt...

I was ten (soon to be eleven in three months' time). I had just woken up and I was laying in bed. I remember rolling over, looking out of the window, and thinking, "The sky is beautiful today, not a cloud up there. I bet it'll be a good day today." When I finally got out of bed, I went downstairs to get myself a glass of water and to use the bathroom, as was (and still is) my custom.

Mom was sitting in the living room with her boyfriend, and they were watching TV. When she heard me coming downstairs, she called out, "Britt, is that you? Come here for a minute!"

"Alright, just let me get a drink and use the bathroom first!"

When I finally made my way to the livingroom and ask Mom what she wanted, she told me to look at the TV. So I did. I saw two tall buildings-- they were taller than any other around -- in what was obviously NYC (New York City), and one had a big gaping hole in it, smoke barreling out. I was astounded. I could feel my stomach beginning to tie itself into knots of anxiety and I sank into the couch, my eyes glued to the TV in shocked fascination.

"What happened?"

"A plane crashed into one of the twin towers," was my mother's response.

"So it was an accident?" That was my first conclusion. I desperately did not want it to be what was running across the bottom of the news screen: that it could be a possible terrorist attack.

"I don't think so, Brittany. We've been attacked."

That was when Joey, my mother's boyfriend, looked to us. An emotion that I could not place, and still cannot place, was in his eyes. "No," he said. "We haven't been attacked. It's only been the one plane. The pilot must not have been paying attention to what he was doing. In New York, because of all the buildings, you're not allowed to fly lower than a certain height to avoid something like this. Either he did not know that, or he wasn't paying attention."

Just then the other plane came shooting toward the second building, ramming into the side in an explosion of red and orange. Renewed screams resounded through the TV speakers, and the anchors gave their emotionless, monotone reports of what was happening. I remember thinking: "There is a crisis going on. How can these news anchors keep it together? Do they not *feel* anything?! Do they not realize the horror of what is happening?!" At the time I didn't understand that that was part of their trainings, that they are not supposed to let their own views or their own emotions interfere in relaying the news to the people.

As if that was the deciding factor, my mother nodded and said, "We are under attack." At that point... everyone knew we were being attacked. What are the chanes of having two planes hit both twin towers and be an accident?

"I'm going to be called in for work," Joey said. He stood and went to their bedroom, and he came out wearing his uniform. He watched the news for a little bit more, and then went to the kitchen to retrieve his gun from on top of the refrigerator where he always kept it (he kept it up there so one of us kids did not get it and accidentally shoot ourselves), and waited for the call.

It came soon after. He went out the back door to get Storm, his partner and the most wonderful pet, and loaded him into the back before taking off. I was terrified, knowing we were under attack and that Joey and Storm had to go into it, so I sent up a prayer, asking God to please keep Storm and Joey safe. I was shaking, but I would not let Mom see. I could tell she was just as upset as I was, probably more so, and didn't need to have me added to the worries.

I remember my mother going into shock, seeing people jumping out of the windows of the World Trade Center. I couldn't see them, and I was thankful that I could not. Unfortunately, when I was in school, a teacher brought a paper in and showed us that particular picture.

"Why are they jumping out of the building?" I asked. It made no sense to me.

"Honey, they're going to die anyway," she tried explaining. "It's either burn to death, choke to death, or die on your own terms."

Just then, on the TV, there was a picture of a bearded man with a turban on his head. I tried pronouncing his name, but it was too difficult for me. That was when the reporter told us that Osama Bin Laden was the suspect behind the 9/11 attacks.

I remember hating him, wondering how someone could be so evil that they would want to kill thousands of people. After all, it was such a beautiful day... We had done nothing to nobody, right? I remember thinking that I should have known something was up... It was too beautiful a day for something not to have been. I felt guilty for hating him. I asked God for forgiveness for hating Osama bin Laden, telling Him it was so hard not to; that I knew God wanted us all to love each other, but how can I possily love somone who wants America to fall?

Then... the first tower fell. I was sitting on the couch closest to the bay window. Mom was in the kitchen. "Oh, my God... MOM!" I yelled. "Mom, the first tower fell!"

"What?!" She hurried into the living room to see what I was talking about.

"The first tower fell."

When my brother came down from upstairs, we filled him in on what was happening. He got on the computer, I think. Mom and I continued to sit on the couch until the second tower fell.
Joey's mother called us, asking if we would take her to get her bus (she was a school bus driver). We agreed, of course. If she went on her own, she would have no one to drive her car back. It was easier to drop her off at the school to pick it up. (It was at this time we learned the way into and out of all the North Eastern States of the US were closed off and all the airports were shut down).

Still, I was paranoid. I kept looking into the sky, watching for that stray plane. Not all of them could have made it into the airports yet. Thankfully, there was none.

When we got back in, that was when we found out the US was on High Alert (the highest it could be), and that the Pentagon had been hit. The President and Vice President were hidden.

I had enough of the horror for one day. I shut myself into the office we had and sat in front of the computer, relaying everything I knew and did not know to all of my friends on my AOL buddy list. They all knew.

That night there was conjecture about going to war. That scared me. I didn't want us to go to war, but at the same time I wanted us to attack the bad guys and wipe them off the face of the earth. That way we wouldn't have to worry anymore. Right? I knew if we went to war, especially on something as broad as Terrorism, it would never be over. But we couldn't sit here and do nothing about it. That would cause for more attacks. Right?

One night after I had gone to sleep... I had a dream about everything. I dreamed that Al-Qaeda was continuing to take their hate out on us... in my small town. They were *everywhere.* They were coming down from helicopters. They were surrounding my house and everybody else's houses.

In my nightmare, Joey and Storm were at work in New York. Our puppy Ozzy (he is now 8 years old), my mother, my two brothers, and myself were all huddled together in the living room, pressing against the door to keep Al-Qaeda out. Nobody was guarding the basement door (we had a door in the basement leading to outside) or the back door. They swarmed in through those doors, and in defense we left the front door open. They opened the door, and one of them grabbed me, tearing me away from my family. "Mom!" I yelled. "They've got me! Mom, help me!" They dragged me outside onto the porch, and the rest of my family were being taken as well. I woke up right when I knew my life was over.

I was surprised to have discovered I was crying.

When school started a week or two later, I was terrified to go. I was afraid something else was going to happen. I begged Mom to let me be home schooled, because I wanted to be around if something were to happen and I told her about my dream.

"No, Brittany, you need to go to school. If something happens, I'll come and get you."

I didn't like it, but she was (and is) the boss. "Do you promise?"

"I promise I will come and get you."

I am eighteen now, soon to be nineteen in three months. It's been eight years, but I remember everything like yesterday. I was wearing jeans and one of my favorite T-shirts. I had water to drink that morning, and skipped breakfast (as usual).

I came to find out not too long ago that most of the horror was shielded by my mother and her boyfriend from me. He would come home late at night and get sick to his stomach about what he had to clean up. He would have nightmares and moan loudly in his sleep, waking my mother up (who in turn woke him up). She made him talk about it to try to prevent the psychological effects. One day he had found a woman's left hand. She had a ring on. "Teresa," he told her, tears in his eyes. "She was *married.* She left a husband behind. She probably had children. What is he going to tell his children about why their mother isn't coming home?"

I still have flashbacks every now and then to that day. On something as simple as a music video, if I see a bridge collapsing or a small building being torn down I cannot help but to see the twin towers falling in my mind. If I see a poster, I cannot help but to think of the terror. Whenever I see the big, empty space the towers used to stand, or whenever I see a picture of the towers themselves... I cannot help but to see the people falling out of the buildings again, head first to the ground.

That day, although I was ten, I began to watch the news more often. I began to become more aware of what was happening in the world, and why. I began to know who *I* really was and what *I* really believed. I became proud of being an American, and I began to understand what American was really all about. I learned what it takes to be a good citizen, and what makes a person an American. I learned why people were so happy to be an American citizen compared to where they came from.

America really does stand for something wonderful: freedom. We stand for the opportunity for a better life. That is something that deserves to be celebrated on the Fourth.

9/11, instead of being a day of volunteerism (as the President wants -- God knows what community service has to do with 9/11), should be a day of National Prayer and Fasting. Or a National Day of Mourning. *Some*thing to mark the horror we have seen on our own soil. *Some*thing to honor the fallen heroes who helped others survive, to honor the families and friends who lost someone one that day.

Thank you for reading this. Here is a Tribute video for 9/11. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Fpr3EkTM0o

Getting to know me

I thought that this next post should be to begin getting to know me. Unfortunately, I do not know how to go about doing that. So how will one of those boring little surveys that nobody likes hurt? Considering I probably have no readers, none at all! LOL

If I could do anything I wanted to tomorrow, what would it be? : Hmmm. I don't know! Tomorrow I am going to blissfully sleep in and relax. Then I will probably do a lot of studying for my Terminology and Anatomy & Physiology exams for Wednesday. I will probably read those wonderful books I checked out of the library, too, while I have the free time. Just, in general, relax! I had a rough week.

What are your core values? : I've never really thought about it before. I suppose I can ask myself this question, then, to discover what my core values are: what is important to me? God is important to me. My family, my pets, being successful in what I do, and doing what it is in life that makes me happy. What is the point in having a job when you can't enjoy it? That will make you one miserable person! Now I can ask myself: what do those things really mean to me?

Well, God means everything to me. I owe God absolutely everything I have, and, unfortunately, it's not enough. I have been through some hard financial times in my eighteen years of life, and it is only because of the Lord that I have been able to get through.

You see, when we (Mom, my two brothers, our dog, and myself) moved back home to Ohio, we had to live with my grandfather and uncle. Things did not work out... My uncle was allergic to our dog, and because his daily routine was upset he could not cope (yes, people are like that; I am like that as well, to a lesser extent). My grandfather tried to push us to get rid of our dog. To my mother and myself, our pets are our family and not to turn your back on them. When you take in a pet, you are taking a responsibility for the rest of their lives -- or yours, whichever case it may be. So, to make things easier, we moved into my cousin's basement. We lived there for about six months. That did not work out, either. So we were looking for a place to live and came across the apartment complex we are now at. I will admit that I do not know how waiting lists work, but the waiting list for this apartment was two years long! Not three months later, we got the call telling us we could move in (as long as we did not have any animals, unless otherwise directed by a therapist; we have two cats and a dog). I thank God for our house, my cats (who were terribly sick and would have died had He not given me the money to get them to Doctor Sears). And even now we have a very, very hard time with our finances, as no one can find a job, but because of Him we manage.

Because of Him, and just because He is our Creator and deserves more than what we can give, I really do try to learn and follow what He wants me to follow. Almost all of the time, though, I find myself out of line. But that is all right; I can recognize where I have fallen out of line, and He will forgive me because He loves me. I just have to make sure to try better than the last time.

My family is very important to me. Who can you go to for support, love, and advice if not your family? My family has been excessively supportive of my career choice and my education pertaining to it. Though my mother has a difficult time baby sitting, she will take time out of her weekends and evenings to sit and talk with me about everything and nothing, or to help me study for that big exam coming up in a few days. My uncle, because I cannot drive, takes me to and from college every day. My grandfather helped me with my uniforms, bookbag, and new shoes. Everyone else tells me how proud they are of me. If I didn't have my wonderful family, I really do not think I would be able to get through these grueling next 18 months of school.

My pets are important to me because... Well, just because. I have been through a lot with them, and I know this transition period into a new routine is just as difficult on them as it is on myself. Caesar and Tater-Tot are used to having me around constantly, but my schooling demands most of my time. Caesar, especially, is having a difficult time in adjusting to that.

Doing what I want to do in life is important to me because I do not want to be the average person: I do not want to hold an average nine-to-five job, hate my boss, and be miserable with my life. That's not me. I am young; I have a lot to live for. I am greatly looking forward to my future, both the good and the bad times. If you do not have bad times, how can you ever expect to grow any stronger than you already are? How can you come away with those important life lessons that make you grow as a person?

Those are my core values.

What are your special talents? : Oh, gosh... I have no clue. I have a knack for school and learning. I am naturally a know-it-all, and I can be very particular. LOL Not very good, eh?

I can sing, but not as well as I used to. I can write very well. Writing, I have to say, would be my special talent. By no means is it perfect! But I can write.

What do you do better than most people you know? : Take care of animals. I may not be very compassionate toward people, but I do not hold back with animals. Where I am considered cold and aloof to a person, with animals I am very loving and compassionate. I am the kind of person who sticks their fingers in the cage of the cattery in a kennel and tune all of the people out. I am the kind of person who cries over those animal shelter commercials. Yes, darn it, they make me cry...

I love on Tater so much that she gets sick of me. LOL It's no wonder I will sometimes wake up with bruises on my body; she probably attacks me in my sleep getting her revenge from not leaving her alone when she plainly told me by biting my hand to leave her alone.

Caesar, on the other hand, no matter how much love I give him he is always begging for more. He is the kind of cat that is content with sitting in the floor with you, being pet on for hours. They have numerous, numerous toys, but they play with none. They get a lot of treats (I have made Caesar a little on the obese side of things...), and I clean the litter box twice daily because Caesar refuses to use it if it's not cleaned less than that. I keep fresh water out for them. They are my life, and I am going to school to take better care of them and other animals, yet my cousin thinks that I could not poke Caesar with insulin shots if he were diabetic? No. I would do what I would have to do in order to keep him alive, even if it meant dropping out of school and paying back 30 grand US dollars for an education that I didn't get. I made a commitment to Tater and Caesar when I adopted them. I am going to see that commitment through.

What were your dreams as a child? : I wanted to be a veterinarian as a child. I would not play with anything but stuffed animals. I am still a stuffed animal junkie. I have tons. Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be a veterinarian. Now I am going to school to be a veterinary technician. That is only so I can wet my feet a little, get used to what I have to do and what is expected of me. Once I get my grant mostly paid off, I have another eight years of college to do before I can become a veterinarian, not to mention having to take the VTNE yet again. Someday I want to own my own veterinary clinic.

What is the thing you are most proud of accomplishing in your life? : I know it's a standard answer, but getting into college. I just barely got through, and that was probably only because of my grades in high school. I get over a thousand dollars extra free money in my grant because of those grades (free money is always good)!

When I was accepted into the Community College, I was happy, of course. But it didn't feel like I thought it would. I guess part of myself was rebelling against going to the community college because it's my life, damn it, and I want to do this for myself, not because so-and-so wants me to. I ended up getting something in the mail from Bradford, and went to check it out. I fell in love! When I got that acceptance letter... that was what I imagined getting accepted into college to feel like.

What will you regret not doing in your life if you continue as you are now? : Not going to church as often as I should. Not finding it in myself to forgive those people that need forgiven (but for some reason, no matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to let those past hurts go). Not volunteering for something for church.

What do you want people to say after you are no longer living? What is your legacy? : I don't know. I want to be remembered after I am gone. Who doesn't? But I don't know what I want to be remembered for. Something big.

What do you want to do after you retire? : I've never thought about it. I've always imagined myself working in a veterinary clinic. Retirement has never crossed my mind before.

Outside of parents who influenced your life more than anyone else; who had an impact on your life and what was it about that person that meant something to you? : Jesus. He is the example I want to live up to, even though I know I never will because I am human and He is not. He has helped me through everything. I know for a fact that He is real, because I have had my own experiences with Him.

I was about thirteen. There had been a murder up the street. The first thing my mind jumps to is (not a domestic situation, like most people), but that he is now a crazy psycho-killer out on the loose to murder everyone in my small 3,000 person town (if that). No matter what my mother would say to me to try to calm me down, it was not working, so she told me to pray about it. I did. Immediately I felt ten times better. I felt calm, loved, protected. It felt like my Lord was telling me not to worry, that everything would be okay because He is in control of it all, that as long as I continue to stick by Him, I will never have anything to worry about in this life again.

I believe He meant that. I really believe He meant that. He would not have done otherwise if He did not mean it. I love Jesus. He is the best friend a person can ever have.

Now, you might think I'm crazy after reading all of that, but that's all right. I just hope you learned something valuable from me.

Why?

As I am sitting here, staring at the computer screen and trying desperately to think of something to blog about, I can't help but to wonder, "Why?" Why did I even start this blog in the first place? What can I get out of this, and what can you learn from me by reading it? What in the world can I blog about that someone else hasn't done a million times over? These are but a few of the questions racing through my mind as I try to think of a topic -- any topic -- to write about, interesting or not.

There are many topics in the world, I know, but once I sit down at the computer to write they all seem to go the way of the wind and disappear on me. Perhaps Google searches could give me an idea, but I have a feeling I would hate all of them because they are not my own.

I could write about my personal life, but really, who wants to read about that? I could write about my political views, but that is way over-done. Or I suppose could look up writing prompts and post them as I brush up on my creative writing, not that it will do me much good in my chosen profession (veterinary technology). In spite of that, short stories are very fun to write, always have been, and I am probably never going to grow out of it.

If I get a following here, feel free to leave me ideas. I will try to pick a subject out of those if one happens to tickle my fancy.