9/11: First My Childhood, Now My Freedom

credit: bjearwicke © sxc.hu/bjearwicke

As a child, I learned to adapt to many situations. By the time I was in kindergarten, I knew that the sound of gunshots meant I was supposed to lay flat on the ground until the shooting completely stopped. And by the time I was 7, I could tell you what a dead body looked like after being shot up, and how long it would take for the police to respond. I had already walked out my front & back doors to play on numerous occasions, to only see chalk outlining where bodies had previously lied and bloodstains waiting to be washed away by the rain.

When other kids my age were being shielded from PG-13 movies, my childhood was being stolen from me. Things weren’t perfect, but we finally managed to escape the housing project I grew up in. And I never really managed to get away from all the violence, being held at gunpoint when I was only 16 years old while working trying to earn extra money and a host of other events that no child should ever experience. But I had survived my past.

Fast forward to September 11, 2001, I had just turned 22 years old. READ FULL ARTICLE: 9/11: First My Childhood, Now My Freedom