And I'm Proud to be an American

Like many Americans, I can remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I first got word of the planes hitting the World Trade Center towers on September 11, 2001. I was sitting in my Honors English class my first week of freshman year of high school. My teacher had just finished prayers when our loudspeaker crackled alive with an announcement.  "Attention, faculty and students. A plane has struck one of the World Trade Center towers in New York City. We don't have many details at this time, but please take a moment to say a prayer with your students for those who have been affected by this tragedy."

Confused, I looked at the girl next to me and asked, "What's the World Trade Center?" She looked at me blankly and shrugged her shoulders. Another girl overheard our conversation and explained to us how tall the buildings were. Naively, I said something like, "How did the pilot not see the building?"

At that moment, our loudspeaker sprung into action once more. "Attention, faculty and students. A second plane has hit the second World Trade Center tower and another plane has hit the Pentagon. A third plane has crashed in Pennsylvania." My mind went numb after these announcements and I tried to understand what this meant. After the principal finished the announcement, my teacher looked at us and said something about terrorist attacks. 

We didn't have cable in our classroom, so my teacher flicked on the radio and we all listened in silence to the panicked announcers describing the scenes in New York City and DC. We were all horrified as more details came to light and slowly realized that this day would change our lives forever.

I'll never forget the relief I felt when I got a hold of my mom during my lunch break. I had been stressing out all morning because my dad was in London at the time on business. She had been in contact with him and told me he was safe.  I couldn't talk to her long because I was borrowing my friend's cell phone, so I wrapped up the conversation and said, "Mom? I want you to know that I love you so much." Her voice cracked and she replied, "I love you too, Laura."

The rest of that day was torture. I was dying to know what was going on and had a hard time focusing in class. I ran off the school bus and immediately turned on CNN. I sat there in a stupor as gory images ran across our television screen and countless emotions flooded my body.  Fear, shock, devastation, helplessness, and anger. How could someone have done this to us? How could someone hate America that much?

When my mom finally got home from work, my brother, sister, and I ran out to the garage to meet her. All four of us embraced in a giant group hug and stood there quietly. It struck me at that moment that some families wouldn't be lucky enough that night to hug their loved ones.

After that day, I was desperate to show my support to the country and freedom I had always taken for granted. I cut up one of my softball medals, so that I could tie the red, white, and blue ribbon in my hair. At the time, my family lived in the middle of nowhere, yet I lit candles every night and put them on our front doorstep to remember those who were lost. The first night I did this, my parents asked me why I felt the need to do so.  I explained how I felt like this was one of the few things I could do to help and support America. They never questioned me again. In fact, I always found candles and matches waiting for me on our kitchen counter every night I performed this memorial.

10 Years Later...

When I woke up this morning, I decided to avoid all media coverage of the ten-year anniversary of the attacks, as I know all too well how the media can make a tough event even harder. I was excited to find the Eagles game on TV and settled in to watch. State Farm's 9/11 tribute commercial came on and I found myself covered in goose bumps with tears streaming down my face.

At that moment, I knew I needed to get out of my apartment. I decided to walk up to Central Park to my favorite spot in New York City, the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir. I often walk around the JKO Reservoir when something is troubling me. As I felt my sadness melting away, I found it ironic that the city that had been targeted and hurt deeply 10 years ago, was offering me comfort.

A view of Midtown from the JKO Reservoir on 9/11/11.

I heard a bagpipe in the distance, as I rounded the reservoir and faced the beautiful view of Midtown. September 11th will always be a devastating day in New York and America's history, yet it is also a day to celebrate the courage and strength of so many.

Say what you want about New Yorkers, but it takes a special kind of community to rebound from such a senseless tragedy. Even in the chaotic days after 9/11, New Yorkers displayed grit, determination, and strength and served as beacons of hope for the rest of the country. Yes, the terrorists were successful in taking the World Trade Center towers down, but they failed in their ultimate goal: crushing America's spirit. 

God Bless America today and always.

Is This Real Life?

One of my favorite things about living in New York City is that without a doubt, you will experience something crazy every day. Some encounters have left me shaking my head and pulling a David After Dentist as I ask myself, "Is this real life?" I've decided to start posting some of my favorite experiences for your entertainment.  I promise everything I post is 100% true- most of the stories are too good to make up.

I'll start with my most recent encounter:

A few weekends ago, I went home to spend time with my family and friends. The day I returned to New York, Mother Nature decided a monsoon would be appropriate travel weather. Of course I didn't pack accordingly, so I didn't have any sort of rain resistant apparel.

Normally I would walk a few blocks away from Penn Station to hail a cab, but any New Yorker knows that when it rains you have a very rare chance at finding a cab. Due to this fact, I decided to wait in one of the never-ending cab lines.

Image via: http://tinyurl.com/4cesdqb

Much to my surprise, the line moved pretty steadily. I was close to the front when I noticed a he/she with bad extensions getting into a cab. Cabs normally floor it as soon as the passenger shuts the door, but this cab sat there for five minutes. Suddenly, the he/she emerged from the cab screaming into his/her cell phone and proceeded to bang on the trunk to get his/her luggage.

The cab driver flew out of the driver's side like a bat out of hell screaming, "DON'T YOU CALL ME A MODAF*CKER!!! YOU DA MODAF*CKER!!" The he/she flicked the cab driver off and they both proceeded to get in each other's faces.

As the he/she and cab driver were involved in their little scrum, the Flyers/Rangers game let out of Madison Square Garden. A drunk Flyers fan suddenly screamed out, "WHATEVER! WE'RE STILL IN FIRST PLACE AND YOU STILL SUCK!" Choruses of "You Suck!" and "F*ck you!" rang out from Rangers fans. Keep in mind that I am an intense Philadelphia fan and I love torturing New York fans just as much as the next guy, but we had just lost SEVEN TO NOTHING.

A drunk Rangers fan approached the drunken Flyers fan and some heated words were exchanged. I thought a fistfight was about to commence, but luckily a cop intervened and split the two up.

Just as I thought I had enough excitement for one twenty-minute interval, a car pulled up and a woman got out. She shouted loudly, "Is this Madison Square Garden?" A guy behind me in line yelled out in a stereotypical New York accent, "Uh yeah, dumb a**. What do you want,  for it to jump out at you?!"

Around this time I asked myself, "Is this real life?" Luckily, I had arrived at the front of the line and was quickly ushered to a cab.

I sat back as the cab pulled away from Madison Square Garden/Penn Station, and I couldn't help but laugh. I thought to myself, "Home sweet home."

New York, New York

I grew-up with my grandfather belting out Frank Sinatra's "New York, New York" any and every chance he got. Weddings, christenings, bbqs, and holiday meals were all excuses for my Pop-Pop to be the center of attention and sing Frank's (yes, Frank and Pop-Pop were on a first name basis) anthem.

Although this song became a fixture in our family, we were raised to dislike anything that had to do with New York. We are a Philadelphia family you see, so New York teams were and continue to be the bane of our existence.

Five years ago, I packed my bags to head down to Blacksburg, Virginia to enter my freshman year at Virginia Tech. I was a double-major in Communication and Fashion Merchandising and had always been told I'd end up in New York City. I shook my head and laughed each time, because there was no way I'd cross enemy lines.

Well, here I am and the lines have been crossed. Minus the plethora of Yankees hats that seem to be everywhere I turn, New York isn't that bad. Ok, I actually really like New York, but shhh don't tell my dad.

With this blog I hope to chronicle my journey as I navigate the streets of the Big Apple. I'm not arrogant and I doubt many people will read this, nor care what I have to say. That's ok with me, because I actually have a pretty selfish reason for starting the blog. I miss writing. A lot. I figure this outlet will help satisfy my hunger to write and maybe give a few people a good chuckle with my naive attempts to figure out NYC.

As Frank sang, "If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere. It's up to you, New York, New York."

Here goes nothing!

**I'm working on the format of my blog. Please be patient, as I work on making it more aesthetically pleasing.