Where were YOU?

In college, I always slept with my tv on. I did this partly to drowned out dorm noise, but also to be able to watch the news, and catch the weather in the mornings, so I'd have a clue of how to dress for the day. 

September 11, 2001, I had a math class at 9:15. I had overslept, and woke up at 8:40. I was frantically trying to get out of bed, get dressed, and get my rear in gear. 

And then I saw it. Boom. This plane slammed into the side of the WTC. At first, I thought it was some movie promo the Today show was showing, to alert us viewers of who would be sitting down next with Katie Couric. 

But then a four letter word at the top left of my screen told me otherwise. The word? LIVE. I literally said, "What the Hell?!" Chills ran down my spine. Dear God, No. The images of the buildings on fire, the plane slamming into the WTC, the people jumping, it was all too much. It truly was like a nightmare, only it was not anything from which any of us could awaken. 

I didn't make it to math class. Before I knew it, my mom was knocking on my door. We embraced so tightly at that moment, and I cried for so many that were not afforded the same opportunity. I'll never forget.

Then, the following day, there was a ceremony of rememberence. Man, it was hot. (I posted the following on my facebook page yesterday, but wanted to give a more expanded recount here, if you're interested)...

I still remember where I was, what I was doing, what I was thinking. So. Horrific. So. Tragic. I also still remember when this picture was taken. I remember the very words that someone said that broke my heart. Those words: The BCM campus minister got up to speak. He was emotional, as was everyone else. He stated that he was awakened by his little boy the night before crying out for him because he had had a bad dream, and then he said it stopped him in his tracks when he thought of SO MANY who were crying out for their parents, who were no longer there to comfort them. I mean, even still, I get choked up thinking about it.  So, there I am, grieving for our country, and this heavy set man with a beard taps me on the shoulder. I glance to my left, he's flashing his badge from the Anniston Star, and gives me a form to fill out, giving him permission to use whatever photo he just took. I cautiously accept, printing my name very clearly: 


First name: J-U-L-I-E (hyphen) A-N-N-E


Last name: D-E-N-T-I-C-I.

I give my hometown information, etc., and he goes on his merry way. I then get out Zack Morris (version 2.0) Nokia cell phone, and call my dad. You see, here's the deal: My dad and I were not on the best of speaking terms for about a year and a half.  So, the fact that I called him was huge. God moves, man. God moves.  "So, I'm not completely sure, but I think I'm going to be in the paper..." His response? "Don't EVER sign something, unless you're 100 percent sure what you're signing." Then, he said, "Well, what paper?! I want to get every copy they print!" So, sure enough, a few days (maybe the following?) later, there's my mug in the paper. Thankfully it wasn't too much of an ugly cry moment (it easily could have been. I don't cry gracefully. At. All. People vacate the premises when I cry)...but, wait...does that say "Sentici?!" It does! Hmm. I get REALLY annoyed when people get my name wrong. I am so used to people mispronouncing my last name, that, really, I have stopped correcting people. But, if you jack up the spelling? Yeah, no. It bugs me. Julie bugs me. My name is Julie-Anne. If you ask me my name, and I tell you "Julie-Anne," then, damn it, that is what I SHOULD be called. The only person I really allow to call me Julie is my mother, because, well, she gave me life. She also NAMED me, so there really is no excuse, in my opinion, but that's a different battle for a different day. 


So, not only did 9-11 bring unity among us, it also provided me an alias. Just a little bit of humor for you on the 14th anniversary of a sobering, tragic event in our Great Nation's history. I am Julie-Anne Sentici, and I will #nevergorget.