Back then, I was a young boy. My younger sister and I were sent to the house of an aunt and uncle that day when my parent were at the hospital. The older of my two younger sisters went to my maternal grandparents. Back then, I was home-schooled. My aunt told me to just do my homework while I was there, and when I told here that I didn't have any, she turned on the news and told me to just watch that, and it would be my homework. They, my aunt and uncle, watched as well, as some towers were on the screen. Then I saw the plane hit the first of the two. I didn't know what these towers were, not until later. I just thought they were any old tower. Then the second hit. My aunt gasped "oh no!", and the commentator on the news said that he at first thought it was just a lousy pilot, but it was now clearly an act of terrorism. That was the one thing that was clear to me back then, that we had been attacked. As my father later described it to me, the people who did it thought that they would go to heaven for their action. I was also soon told what the World Trade Centers were.
Back then, when I saw the towers fall from the sky down to dust, I didn't morn. Today, I still don't. My mother was at the hospital because she was pregnant. Later that night, my baby sister was born. Because of that, I look at this date with mixed feelings. Today, on the seventh anniversary of the day when the towers no longer cast their shadow, my sister is having her seventh birthday. I look back at that day, and I see two events. I see death, and I see life at the same time. In my personal history, it will just amount to one very abnormal day, with family joys and national griefs, neither of witch are dominant.
I can't quite tell my sister "happy birthday", since it won't be happy, so instead, "This birthday's to you, sis."