I saw it first hand, and I couldn't help but think of all the times my elders would tell me the story of what they were doing when they heard JFK was assassinated. This was going to be the story I tell. Looking down the street and seeing the smoke coming from the first tower, I wasn't very concerned. It was a terrible shame, but nothing more. Then the second plane hit, and I got real nervous. I went back inside and watched from the window, as they collapsed one after the other and the fear grew, the concern for the people there hit me hard, and I wondered where my father was. I learned later that he had left the WTC maybe ten minutes before the first impact. Thank God.