The terrifying events of September 11, 2001, changed our nation forever. It helped us realize that we are just as vulnerable to attack as everyone else in the world. Afterward, we began to build up our defenses to resemble an impregnable fortress and launched numerous army assaults on our enemies in the Middle East. Terrorists have attempted further attacks on American soil since 9/11; but they have been thwarted by our advanced defense systems.

As a New Yorker and the nephew of one of the attack's many victims, I have a substantial connection to the attacks. I was six years old at the time and still remember the day vividly. I had just started Kindergarten at a small school on the Upper West Side of Manhattan and my father was working in one of the buildings directly adjacent to the World Trade Center. He was sitting at his desk when he saw the first plane fly into the tower. At the time everyone thought it was an accident. But when the second plane drove into the south tower, he quickly left his office and walked up to Times Square, where my mother had her office. Since the subways had been shut down in the confusion, he had to walk the three miles through the packed streets.

My father did not have a cell phone back then; so he had to borrow a stranger's phone to tell my mother that he was alright and coming to her office. Once they met each other, my parents walked another mile and a half uptown to my school to collect me because the teachers had dismissed us early.

I remember meeting my parents outside the school; they looked very frightened and disturbed. I wondered what had happened but they would not tell me. "Whatever it is," I thought. "it must be a huge catastrophe." We walked back to our Midtown apartment through Central Park, during which I noticed everyone had the same look of anguish and fear that my parents had.

My grandmother happened to be visiting us from Ohio. Once at home, we all turned on the TV to see the latest news. As we did, some of my father's family members trickled into our apartment to spend the night because they lived in the suburbs and could not get home. My half-sister and five of my adult cousins had come and we were all anxiously awaiting my uncle, who worked on the 84th floor of the south tower. After about an hour, I asked where he was; nobody answered me. As the hours ticked by, we began to realize that it was useless to keep waiting for him.

I don't remember what happened in the days and weeks that followed. My mother told me that I drew a lot of pictures of the towers and the big conflagration that engulfed them. She also said that I wanted desperately to rebuild the towers and built twin towers made of wooden blocks. She and I went downtown to see the wreckage a few times. I was frantic to go into the sight to search for my uncle's remains. My mother said I told this to a police officer who guarded the entrance to the sight. He gave me a very pained look but quietly turned us away.

All of this happened fifteen years ago. I will never forget that day. But its repercussions are still felt by everyone.