It began a day like any other September day in Alexandria, Va. The sun was shining and the summer heat was finally on the wane, and for me, it was the second day of the second week of fifth grade.

I was not yet completely comfortable with my new schedule or teacher, but I was slowly adjusting. As always, we began the day with the morning prayer and the Pledge of Allegiance, and then spent the remaining hour of homeroom waiting to switch classes to go to math. Everything was routine…until it wasn’t.

It was 9:15 am. Math class began as usual, but for some unknown reason, children from my class were, one by one, being called for dismissal. At the time we thought all those kids were being called out of class to go to a special birthday party for one of our classmates, and the rest of us sat enviously wondering why we were not invited.

Then suddenly, my math teacher, while facing the window, exclaimed, “Oh my God!” It was then that the remaining 10 kids in my class turned toward the window and saw the tail end of a plane that was moving downward, but was not near Reagan Airport; instead it was on the other side of Interstate 295, near the Pentagon. We heard the diffused

report of an explosion.

“All students and teachers please report to the gym” was heard over the loudspeaker while the kids in my class and myself made our way down to the gym, whispering to each other, still not sure what was happening.

“I think it was a bomb,” one girl said. “A bomb went off in the Pentagon.”

“My mom works at the Pentagon!” screamed my friend, Sophia.

“I’m sure she is OK,” I said, trying to reassure her, but still knowing nothing.

As we walked into the gym, the remainder of the school body was sitting, waiting for our principal to speak to us. She walked up on stage, appearing distracted and challenged for words. Finally, she spoke.

“Hi everyone,” she said. “I have called this assembly today to talk with you about why so many of your classmates have been called for dismissal.” She continued, “There are some people in this world who do not like America and want to hurt us. And today, we have been attacked. Don’t worry, you are all safe and your parents will be here either at the end of the day or before to pick you up. Let’s stand and sing ‘God Bless America’.”

At that moment, the entire student body stood and sang “God Bless America,” still not completely sure what was happening. Many children were crying, not knowing whether or not their parents who worked at the Pentagon had made it out alive.

When we left the gym and entered my classroom, my teacher had the remaining six of us sit on the floor and pray the rosary. Then a voice came over the loudspeaker, “Ms. Jones, could we please speak to Kaylyn for a moment?”

“Finally,” I thought. My parents were here to pick me up and I would know my family was safe. But as I went to pick up my backpack, I thought, “Wait…they didn’t call me for dismissal, they asked to speak to me. That’s the same thing, right?”

“Should I bring my things, Ms. Jones?”

I asked.

“Um, yes, go ahead,” she replied.

I ran down the three flights of stairs as fast as I could, and in the doorway of the school stood my mom, her eyes swollen from crying. I immediately started crying and ran to her.

“Where’s Dad?” I cried.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I have to go back to work. I can’t take you with me. Someone will be here to get you. I don’t know where Joey (my older brother) is. I have to go, I’m sorry.

I love you!”

As I stood there crying watching her leave, my best friend Jessica’s mom was coming through the door.

“Do you want me to take Kaylyn?” she asked my mom.

“Yes, oh my gosh, Deborah, thank you so much!” exclaimed my mom.

Jessica came to the student exit area, and we all went to pick up her brother from high school. There was smoke everywhere, and surprisingly, it was silent, except for sirens in the distance. I rode in the backseat, quietly crying, looking at the smoke through the window and wondering when I would see my

parents and brother.

Both my parents were in the FBI, and I knew they had to work—so it turned out I would be staying with Jessica for a while, and then switching off to stay with other friends.

When we got back to Jessica’s house we changed out of our uniforms from school and went outside and sat on the small wooden swing hanging from the tree in her backyard. We sat quietly for a while, listening to the sirens and watching the smoke in the air.

“It just…seems like a dream,” I said.

“I know,” she replied.

The terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001 would exact a physical and emotional toll on my family, our friends and myself. Two schoolmates at St. Mary’s would lose parents who worked at the Pentagon. My parents would work 12 hour shifts, seven days a week for more than three months. My brother and I would be shuttled among friends and neighbors during those months.

Over three thousand Americans were killed on 9/11. Family’s lives were disrupted and changed forever. I just lost my innocence.