I was a seventeen-year-old high school senior in St. Petersburg, Florida, on September 11, 2001. That morning, my classmates and I were in hysterics as we discussed the jokes and innuendos of Aeschylus’s tragedies in AP English. We had all thoroughly enjoyed this class due to Mrs. Archer, a teacher with a keen ability to generate compelling dialogue about classic literature.
At about 9:00 a.m., another teacher darted into the room with a very sullen look on her face. Without even acknowledging that students were present, she whispered something into Mrs. Archer’s ear. Our teacher’s head bowed as she hurriedly turned on the television. The class fell quiet.
The screen was immediately filled with horrifying, confusing images of thick black smoke pouring out of one of the Twin Towers. After a few very puzzling moments, we collectively gasped as we watched a large passenger jet fly into the World Trade Center tower on the right side of the screen.
The world seemed to stand still as we hung on every word of the news anchors, who seemed just as astonished as we were. They then told us about plane crashes at the Pentagon and a Pennsylvania field. We watched in dismay as the Twin Towers collapsed in giant clouds of thick, gray dust.
For the rest of the day, the normal sounds of high school kids gossiping and slamming lockers were replaced with deafening silence. The fact that our collective freedom—and lives, for that matter—had just been gravely threatened was not lost on my group of friends. Even as teenagers, our hearts ached for the victims of this horrendous terrorist attack. I also remember returning home to blankly stare at the TV screen with my mom, dad, and siblings.
When I had woken up that fateful Tuesday morning, my dreams revolved around attending the Naval Academy, competing as a Division I swimmer, and becoming a Navy officer. When I went to bed on the night of September 11, 2001, those dreams were replaced with a strong determination to serve our country in whatever capacity I could.
I resolved that night that, even if my plans to attend the Naval Academy fell through, I would enlist in the Navy anyway. I wanted to dedicate my life to a cause that would prevent evil men like Osama bin Laden from attacking our homeland.
AS US TROOPS FOUGHT al Qaeda and the Taliban in Afghanistan on December 22, 2001, I was returning from an exhausting high school swim practice in Florida. When I got home, I was greeted by a thin FedEx envelope postmarked from Maryland.
My hands trembled as I ripped open the envelope to find a single leaf of high-quality letterhead, emblazoned with the Naval Academy’s crest. Across the page was a detailed memorandum, but my seventeen-year-old eyes moved directly to six words that would forever change my life: “Welcome to the Class of 2006!”
A few weeks later, another package would arrive from the same Annapolis address. It contained strict guidance for the Navy’s “Induction Day,” or “I-Day” as it is more commonly known. The packet stressed the physical rigors I would endure during my “plebe summer,” which all new midshipmen are required to participate in before the fall semester, including push-ups, sit-ups, and long runs in the summer heat. A significant number of incoming freshmen, or “plebes” as they are called at the Naval Academy, would drop out after being exposed to plebe summer’s rigors.
Every day for three months, I worked out even harder than I was already training as a swimmer. I felt physically ready for plebe summer after those ninety days, but as I prepared to leave everything I knew and loved in St. Petersburg, I began to wonder if I was mentally prepared for Annapolis.
I read all available literature on what to expect from plebe summer. I asked anyone and everyone for their advice. Out of all the help that I received, my father’s words stood out, as always.
“Be honest and be yourself,” he said. “Be quiet and humble unless called upon. Be determined, motivated, and always on your guard. Don’t let them see you suffer.”
That valuable advice was similar to what my dad had been saying as we worked toward success in the pool. Because I had been swimming since age eleven, I knew that I could push myself beyond perceived physical limits, while also accomplishing my goals with a strong mind. I hoped that things would be the same during plebe summer, but no matter how hard I tried to block out negative thoughts, uncertainty and doubt still loomed.
EACH “I-DAY” CANDIDATE WAS allowed to bring a small backpack containing a baseball glove and a tennis racket. As my father and I rummaged through our small Florida garage for the necessary items, I zeroed in on the Pee Wee Mag baseball glove that I had been using since I was six. The glove was tattered and no longer fit, but it was the only mitt I ever used during those backyard catches when my dad taught me what it meant to be an American.
As I loaded up my goods, my father noticed the wear and tear on my childhood glove and proceeded to dig around for his own. He insisted that I bring his glove to the Naval Academy instead. Deeply honored, I jammed the glove into my backpack.
I cherished my father’s gift. It comforted me that I was bringing a piece of his life with me into the unknown dangers of the post-9/11 world. I knew that when I looked at the glove in Annapolis and wherever I’d go next—maybe even a battlefield—that I would be able to hear my dad’s comforting words of encouragement. I would also remember our backyard catches, and that yearning desire I would always feel to make him proud.