Yeah. I was in Greenwich, New Jersey, where they had their own Tea Party about the same time Boston had theirs. They dumped it in the harbor. We burned it. There’s a monument to the burning.

The house I was in belonged to a clockmaker named Benjamin Reeve. Why the first floor was so much taller than the second.

Then, that morning, the TV was on with nobody watching and the phone rang. My stepdaughter cried out. It was her granddad who had called and her mother who pointed. One of the towers was on fire. As we watched, another plane hit. And the world changed forever in a moment.

My Boudica had a different experience, related here.

The same pup who challenged me to remember after I challenged him to remember saw no relevance in the fact that I remembered the Kennedy assassination, even though 9/11 happened to him at the same age the assassination happened to all of us. So I thought I would demonstrate the specifics of my memory. I was at school here.

It was 2:25 in the afternoon. Usually, we took the bus home. This day, though, my mother was waiting for us in our white privilege car.

“The president has been shot,” she said. She looked white. We went white. Probably our most white privilege moment ever. My sister got sick in the grass.

He was dead. And then everything changed forever.