I was in the seventh grade. That morning at school, several of my classmates were picked up by their parents without explanation. Before long, people got suspicious that there was some kind of disease going around. Around noon, our teachers gathered our grade together and informed us that terrorists had hit the World Trade Center in New York and the Capitol building, based on the information they had then. My first thought was that this was some sort of drill or training exercise. But the teachers seemed legitimately confused and anxious, and it soon set in that this was real.

I began to panic when I remembered that my dad had flown from Boston to Washington that very morning. I rushed to the main office of the school so I could call home, and quickly a line formed behind me. My mom told me that she had spoken to my dad and that he was fine, but she informed me of one detail that we still hadn’t learned yet: the towers had fallen. I told the kid behind me in line, and he told the kid behind him, and so on. Before long, my mom was there to pick me up and my dad was on the line from her cell phone. I spent the rest of the day watching CNN in a mix of emotions too bizarre to describe.

I invite readers to share what they remember from seven years ago.