Fighting the Fear of Flying on 9-11

The morning of Sept. 11, 2011 found me Cleveland enjoying a nice breakfast with my wife and two newlywed friends. We had traveled there for another wedding.

The conversations at the table ranged from sports to future trips together.

Inside, I couldn’t fight the uncertainty I had about our flight back home that would take us over the scene of one of the most heinous tragedies: New York City.

I hadn’t paid much attention when I booked the flight some weeks ago, I was more attracted to the great price as opposed to the date and the itinerary.

Cleveland Police had set up several “Random Car Check” posts outside the airport, looking for anything that could be used in another attack, I guess. I felt somewhat safe but I couldn’t stop thinking, “Man, that day really happened.”

Like many people, I remember what I was doing, where I was at and in some cases, what you were wearing? For me, I was in room 215 in Truth Hall on the Campus of Cheyney University, laying on the floor following a Monday Night Football viewing with some friends. The attire, college dress code, of course: basketball shorts, ankle socks and a sleeveless t-shirt.

I remember watching the second plane smash into one of the towers with my jaw on the floor in astonishment. Sunday, my first time ever flying into New York, I had no idea what to expect.

The flight from Cleveland started with blue skies and some of my favorite snack cookies. As we approached John F. Kennedy International Airport, we entered overcast skies, which suddenly turned, into a light rain. It was on that final turn on approach did I realize the gapping hole in the New York skyline.

That sunny day in 2001 did happen.

Inside JFK, people scurried about to make planes while others bought cups of coffee and others crowded around televisions in a restaurant to watch football games. I felt like I was the only person consumed with the thoughts of will anything happen?

But I wasn’t.

At just about every corner of the airport, the shifty eyes of police officers and other airport security watched the movement of thousands of travelers. One woman who walked away from her bags to go get something to eat found her bags being confiscated and checked.

Then came the announcement: “Paging passengers Andre Taylor and Andrea Taylor.” I prolonged my boarding until the last minute, not really knowing what this flight would bring.

After an hour and a half sitting on the runway, we were off for a 35-minute flight into Baltimore. Turbulence was plentiful and rough, but finally, we touched down.

I’m almost certain I was the only person a little frightened to fly the path I went Sunday.

Walking through the airport in Baltimore, I have never been happier to see so many Redskins fans.

I was safely home.