Tuesday, November 22, 2016
Posted here March 18, 2022
On this date in 1963, I was in kindergarten. Suddenly, an announcement
came over the PA; I listened to it but didn’t understand what was being said.
“School is dismissed for the day.” Why? I wondered. The rest of the announcement
was drowned out as students cheered and began gathering their things to go home.
Still puzzled, I got the teacher’s attention and asked what was happening. She said something about the President, which didn’t make sense to me. “It’s okay,” she said. “Go on home.” Chaos followed, as students hurried out of the school.
Entering the side door of my home, I saw my mom crying. “Mom, what’s wrong?” I asked. The image on the TV was more upsetting: it was Walter Cronkite with the news, and he too was in tears. Finally, Mom gathered enough composure to tell me that someone had shot and killed the President of the United States. My heart sank. “Why, Mom?” I asked. “Why would someone do that?”
Fifty-three years later, I find myself still unable to answer that question.
(Posted at 1:20 pm)