I grew up with a homemaker mother, a working father. I was raised to believe that women belonged at home, men at work. I grew up with conservative Republican parents as a bisexual woman, and I heard a lot of political discussions between my grandfather and my dad and my great uncles. Women didn't talk politics in our house.
I have a lot of thoughts about yesterday- the anniversary of 9/11- and about how that day shaped my life. I was eleven years old, walking between classes in middle school, feeling that something was off, on my way to math class. The TV was on when I got there, which was completely out of the ordinary. None of us in the class knew where the Twin Towers were, so our teacher, Mr. Myers, showed us on the map. People were falling or jumping from the towers on TV as we watched. I cried. I was afraid. On the way home from school on the bus, the armory parking lot next to the Weis grocery store was dotted with military vehicles like something out of a movie. When I got home, mom cried in front of the TV, and we all held each other. I kept a journal of the details from the news, because I didn't know what else to do. There were no planes in the sky that week, and I remember Dad saying I'd never see that happen again- he was right.