Nov. 22, 2003 ~ Where were you,
on this day forty years ago? (If you were even on the planet.) Every American who is old enough to remember... probably does remember.
I lived in Dallas, and was eight years old. My friend Debbie and several other students (the ones with the cool parents) got to go downtown to see the President, but I was in PE class when I heard the news over the school's loudspeaker. We were all so numb. A hush fell over the room, then most of us started crying. First we were told that the President and Governor Connally had been shot, and that we should all pray for them. Not long afterwards our Principal tearfully told us that President Kennedy had died. I do remember seeing the funeral on TV, but where? Was it in school? I guess it must have been. Debbie did not see the assassination, but was so upset that she missed school for another day (or was it two?). I remember crying that night, being unable to sleep, terrified that Russia was going to attack us and there would be war.
After the assassination, a lot of things changed for our family. My mom worked for an airline, and we traveled a lot. After Kennedy died, it seemed like everybody hated Dallas and people from Dallas. Suddenly it was harder to get hotel reservations. I remember being refused service at a restaurant, and people being hateful to us everywhere. Before long, my mom told us to tell people that we were from somewhere else. When traveling, it was years before we stopped getting dirty looks when we mentioned "Dallas."
Those were hard years. Not just the death of JFK, but Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King. It seemed, then, that our world was falling apart. Sometimes now, in quiet, dark moments, I think the same thing. Every time I turn on the TV, there is another bombing, more soldiers or civilians killed, and it's too much for me. The TV goes silent.
Soldier Boy has 18 months left in the Service.
Yesterday he told us that he is thinking of re-enlisting.
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