Where were you when the world stopped turning?

I was still in the shower.

My grandfather Wayne Wyatt, who passed away last September, poked his head into the bathroom and said, "A plane has hit the World Trade Center."

Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2001.

"Terrible accident," I think.

By the time I got to the bottom of the stairs, the second plane hit the other tower.

This was no accident.

I went to work. Doug Shipman called to talk about a golf tournament. I asked if I could call him back.

I watched news coverage on a small black-and-white TV. My boss came in about 10 and told us to get to work.

"If you just sit there, the terrorists have won."

She was right. I went to work.

Then it hit me:

I was in Manhattan the week before. It was my first trip to New York. I took a train to Grand Central Station. I met Tom Selleck. I saw those magnificent twin towers.

Turns out a guy with whom I once attended church, Tony Karnes, perished in the attacks. So, too, did so many others.

Everything changed. Nothing changed.

Where were you when the world stopped turning?