February 15, 2001, began as an ordinary day. I went to my job as a schoolteacher, kissing everyone goodbye and wishing them a good day before I left. My wife, Corrine, and my daughter, Carly, who was 10 years old, would soon be leaving as well for the school where my wife was a teacher and my daughter a fifth grader. My sons, Casey, who was a 16-year old high school junior, and Curtis, who was a freshman at the high school, would be heading to a neighbor's house to meet their ride to school. It was like any other morning. I always felt a slight bit of apprehension when the boys left for school. The neighbor who gave them a ride to school was a good, careful driver, but he was also a teenager. But there was no way for my wife or I to drop them off every morning, and we didn't want them hanging out waiting for a bus, so this seemed like a reasonable solution.