I was a few months shy of my sixth birthday, and I vividly remember my mother screaming and collapsing in a heap on the floor because she thought her brother was on the second plane. That was also the first time I ever called 911 for real, because I thought she was dying. Even after we found out my uncle had missed his connecting flight and wasn't anywhere near New York, she was an emotional wreck. It was one of those thresholds that separates your life into Before and After - not only on a nation-wide scale, but for me personally. September 11 2001 marked the first time my family had truly depended on me - my siblings for basic care and my mother for emotional support.
So yeah, don't try to lecture me about what I'm not allowed to remember, douchebag.