Why is it only the bad days that stick in our collective memory.
November 22. It's STILL one of those days. In 1963 I was in the second grade lined up (arms distance) to come in from recess at Our Lady of Mercy School when Father Power came out of the Rectory and said something to the nuns. I remember one nun started to cry. I had never seen a nun cry and was amazed by that.
We filed inside and learned the President Kennedy had been shot. We watched the television on the large rolling stand in the classroom. When they said he died, they sent us home. I remember walking home in an eerie quiet. There were no cars on Southgate Avenue, something I then thought of as a busy street. I remember thinking my dad was going to be mad about this, because when you are seven years old your entire world is your parents world.
I don't know why I was walking alone, not that I was concerned about that. It was a calmer time and seven year olds walked home alone all the time. I just wonder why my sisters weren't with me. Three of us went to the same school. Maybe they sent the little kids home first. Funny, I remember some things so crystal clear and cannot explain others.
What amazes me is that you have to be about my age to even remember that day at all. It was day that changed everything and no one under 50 could possibly remember. Weird. My parents spoke of Pearl Harbor but that was ancient history when I was a kid. Same effect here.
There have been other days. Everybody remembers where they were when the space shuttle exploded and, of course, nothing can compare to September 11. But that was 10 years ago and probably anyone under 13 doesn't remember that. Time marches on. New things happen to define our world.
Maybe the next one will be something good.
Do something good today.