Proud to Be.

Mark and I had only been married for a couple years, when we moved into a quaint two bedroom condo in Orem. I finally felt . . . oh, I don't know. Grown up?
So when my good friend, Diana, whom I'd known since college, called and asked if she could stay, I was thrilled. I wanted to show off my cute apartment, my newborn baby, and my happy (uh, most of the time) married life. I wanted her to see how mature I was.

On the second morning of Diana's stay, I rolled out of bed and tip-toed through the house, leaving to go to Aerobics. I didn't want to wake my house guest. When I arrived at the gym I immediately knew something wasn't right. Employees and members stood around. Unmoving. Not working out. Doing nothing but staring at the big screen tv in the lobby.

I walked in, with a peppy smile, wanting to joke about whose funeral it was. Before the words could leave my mouth, my smile faded. One of the twin towers, shrouded in smoke, had a plane sticking out of it. A Plane!

My mind reeled to make sense of the confusion on the reporters' faces, the fear in the New Yorkers' faces and the shock on the faces of those around me.

Right then and there, I realized what a small part of the world I am. How at any moment, something beyond my control could take away my life, my liberty...my freedom. I'll never forget that day as long as I live. I'll never forget the pain I felt for those who died. And I'll never forget the swell of emotion I felt when President Bush addressed the nation.

I'm Proud to Be an American. And nobody, can take that away from me.