The definition of a miracle is an extraordinary event manifesting divine intervention in human affairs. Not everyone in the world believes in miracles. They may not believe for religious reasons, while some believe they are just not humanly possible. However, I can tell you, I believe in miracles, and always will. It’s very hard to explain something remarkable, but you know that it has a special meaning to you.
This past month, Mike Piazza, the former catcher of the New York Mets, was elected into the Hall of Fame. He was only the second Mets player in team history to be inducted as a New York Met. Which is huge news for someone who loves the Mets, like myself. However, that’s not what I wanted to talk about. On September 21, 2001, something remarkable happened at Shea Stadium.
For as long as I can remember, my
mother never allowed me to watch the "World Trade Center" movie that was released
in 2006. In her eyes, I was too young, and she never wanted me to see what took
place that day. The Twin Towers captivated the most famous skyline in the
world, and was the focal point for the business world. Every time I drive over
the White Stone Bridge, I look over the East River at the most beautiful city
in the world. Now, I can only see pictures and
imagine what once was. I’m always so fascinated by the city of New York: the
faces that pass, the lives that are lived, and the skyscrapers that you just
have to look up at as if they went straight into Heaven. Everything about
New York City I love, but more importantly, it will always have a special
meaning. My father was there that day, not once, but twice, in 1993 and on September 11, 2001. 
Fortunately, he’s alive to tell the tale. In 1993, from 103 floors up into the sky, during an attempt to destroy the heart and soul of New York, my dad was forced to run down 103 flights of stairs. Thankfully, his company transferred buildings from the North Tower of the Twin Towers, to Building 7 of the World Trade Center. Building 7 was the first building to collapse that morning. A dust-filled sky and thousands of hopeless Americans running to find safety, and my father found himself in Brooklyn to escape the nightmare that had just occurred. Although I was just 4 years old at the time, my now 18 years of life on Earth have heard stories of others and their lives on that day.
Years later, in 2011, my family and I attended the 10th Anniversary Mets game at Citi Field in recognition of September 11. Over 30,000 fans were in attendance, each holding a light, a scene that words can’t describe but left you speechless, a time to realize when the world comes together.
Now, rewind back 10 years. Ten days after the events of September 11, and it was the first major public event that took place in New York. A late September game between the New York Mets and the Atlanta Braves, September 21, 2001. Bitter rivals but that night, they stood as one. It was the night Mike Piazza became a Hall of Famer. It was one of those surreal moments that not even words can describe -- some might say, a miracle.
For the first time in 10 days, New
York was together again. I was just 4 years old, but every time I go back and
watch, it sends chills down my spine. The spirits of New York had been lifted. It was just a game, but it meant so much more. New York was back, and stronger
than ever. Tens of thousands of fans on their feet, and for 30 seconds, those few
moments, New York was able to forget about the day that would be cemented in our
minds forever. New York was resilient. For just a split second, the crowd was
silent, as Mike Piazza sent a late eighth inning homerun over the left
center field wall. The roar of the crowd had silenced the sadness, now tears of
joy -- New York had just witnessed a miracle. 
I know that game was just a game, but when I go back and watch that homerun, it makes me thankful; thankful that someone greater than I was able to send a miracle. The miracle that uplifted the spirits of New York, and the miracle to bring my dad home.
