I was at home in San Francisco when my mother called. “Are you watching TV” she asked? I replied “no” and switched it on. I imagined that whatever she was calling about would be no big deal. She was elderly. But the first thing I saw was not a talking head but the event itself: slow motion footage of a plane as it smashed into the World Trade Center, and then exploded in a huge fireball.
I sat glued to the set, like everyone, for hours, watching the towers crumble. The next day I went to the Civic Center to donate blood and saw a line that stretched around the block. I vowed to go back. I was glad – and a little surprised – when Bush in his televised response had a Muslim standing next to him.FROM AN AMERICAN STORY
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