Here we are again, another anniversary of the most tragic day in American History. A time to reflect on what we have, what we lost, and how we can do better as a country. Typically, we use these anniversaries to remember the victims. This is about a survivor, who happens to be my father. A man who was just as affected by the events of that day as anyone else.

My dad wasn't and isn't a cop, firefighter, or EMT. At the time he worked for Banco Popular, a bank located directly across the street from the WTC. He typically worked 9-5, took the LIRR home, and was home in time for dinner...most of the time anyway! My father now works for the USPS and holds a master's degree in business. He likes old movies, telling cheesy jokes and he's under a strange impression he can sing (kidding pa, you're not that bad a singer). Unbenounced to me, 9/11 affected his life more than I thought. That my fun loving, nerdy (in a good way!) dad would be forever changed by 102 minutes that changed the world.

"I was standing in a corner office seeing the events unfold....when right before my eyes the second plane hit the second tower while I was on the phone with your mom, and the line went dead"

That's what my dad said of the first moments of that day. Being an employee with seniority it was my father's job as the floor warden to evacuate his floor plus another and make sure everyone got out safely. When I asked him what happened once they made it to the street he said he wasn't afraid, just uncertain with a need to stay alive. After a few moments, when the towers came down my dad was amongst the thousands of people go be engulfed by the cloud of white debris, left to wander looking for shelter. He mentioned the employees at the NY stock exchange let him and so many other people into their building once the smoke cleared. He was given a shirt to change into since his was covered in that dust...debris...and whatever else was in the towers. He walked as many people as he could to the ferry terminal to be a part of what would later be known as the largest maritime evacuation in history. He remained calm in an attempt to make others calm, my dad is good at that.

My mom didn't pull my brother and I out from school as so many other parents did that day. Instead, when we got off the bus she was outside waiting the same as any other day. I had mentioned that kids in my class kept being called out and taken home but I wasn't sure why. She told us we had to go to the train station to get my dad, that something bad had happened, that bad men had crashed planes into buildings, people were missing, that my dad was ok but we had to go now. I've always been a nervous person so hearing that made me petrified. We arrived at the train station in a line of dozens of cars...people trying to get to their loved ones. I saw a herd of people stream down the steps. Almost every person was covered in the white dust, they looked like ghosts. Men and women in suits covered in white dust, some with masks over their nose and mouth. Then my dad....My funny dad who always made us laugh was blank faced, quiet and completely devestated. He too covered in dust, looking like the ghost of my goofy dad who has left for work that clear September morning. He hugged my mother and got into the car. I've never seen my dad with the same look on his face ever again.

For the longest he kept the clothes from that day, unwashed but in a plastic bag. That September morning he was wearing penny loafers, when he came home safe an 8 year old me told him those were his lucky shoes, his magic shoes....just like Forrest Gump had. The shoes that took him anywhere and brought him home. So he kept them.

In the years since on the anniversary of 9/11 my dad watches hours upon hours of footage, documentaries, and the reading of the names of the fallen. I was always confused how he could watch those shows because it makes me cry when I do, and I wasn't even there. Only recently did I discover that for almost 10 years my dad was unable to watch anything to do with that day. He was diagnosed with PTSD but never sought treatment like so many others. My mom said his legs would shake, nightmares, and anxiety would wash over him whenever footage from that day played. I guess now I know why he watches it now. To prove that he can, to remember, and to realize that he was so very lucky. I guess that's why he cries a lot, at everything. My brother and I tease him about it all the time, but maybe...just maybe it's because what if he hadn't been around to see all the things he's crying about? I forget sometimes that my parents especially my father is not made of stone.

A few years back we went to the memorial museum,which for lack of a better term is a shrine to the fallen, rooms and halls filled with letters, artifacts, and are architecture.A place where time essentially stands still and is frozen in those 102 minutes. It's an overwhelming memorial, that the only way out is through....which is fitting and symbolic I suppose. My dad walked through silent and without tears. I watched him the whole time and waited for the moment he would break down. He didn't. I barely made it out without sobbing. To see those who didn't make it, testimony from those who did, and glancing at the photos on the wall and thinking my dad's picture could've been here. That along with some kids in my school, I could've lost my parent that day.

Now, here we are. 15 years later. The penny loafers are long since worn out and tossed, the dust covered suit as well. Newspapers stacked in a dresser along with the shirt from the stock exchange. My father has since seen 2 kids graduate high school, one graduate nursing school, and will be walking me down the aisle in November. He still likes old movies, and his jokes are even more cheesy these days. Although changed from those horrific events, he's still my dad, and evidently still a pain in the ass. Well let's face it, what dad isn't?

To those who survived, we love you and are so glad you came home. To those who didn't, we remember and honor you.

I love you pa, I'm always grateful that you were among those that came home that September day. We don't always see eye to eye, neither of us perfect, but I'd rather have that than the alternative.