I'll Always Remember Where President Kennedy was the Day I was Shocked.

Patricia Ernest (Pissed Off Patricia's Blog ) OpEdNews.com

 I can feel the memory.  I can feel exactly the way I felt 40 years ago today.  I can feel the fright.  I can feel the mystery. I can feel the sadness.  It's all right here inside of me, and even if it's forty years old today, it's as good as new.  Our president had been murdered, the same President who shook my hand just a few days before he went to Dallas.

 It had been  a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.  An opportunity to go and see the President of the United States in person.  My mom had allowed me to skip school so that she could take me to the ball field where President Kennedy would be speaking.  We drove to the locale, parked, and walked over to where the seats were.  It was outdoors and, as I remember, a really nice day.  I couldn't tell you one word of what he said as he spoke.  I just remember thinking that he sounded exactly as he did on tv.  And, there I was, in real life, looking at and hearing the President of the United States.  This was not the typical "old guy" President.  This was a young President, the one I had a crush on.  This was a President who was interesting.  I knew his wife's name and his kids and everything.  My neighbor had the comedy album that made jokes about the way President Kennedy spoke and jokey stuff about Ms. Kennedy too.  I could laugh at the album, but I wouldn't laugh at the real President.  There was so much respect surrounding President Kennedy that disrespect just couldn't get through. 

 Anyway, after he spoke, he started walking over to where we were all sitting.  There were secret service people all around him, but that didn't stop him.  He walked right over and smiled and reached out his hand to all who could touch it.  He was walking along, coming towards where we were.  Oh my god, he was walking toward me!  Yes, it was going to happen, and it did.  My hand made contact with President Kennedy's hand, and it wasn't just a sort of slide one's hand by another, it was a real, honest to goodness handshake, and he said, "Hello".  President Kennedy said "Hello" to me.  Oh my god!  The President of the United States had time to shake my hand.  You should have seen his smile.  You should have heard his voice.  This was the real thing.  This was the President of the United States, my President Kennedy.  You talk about a little girl beaming.  I was lit up like a neon sign.  It was shock and excitement and disbelief all rolled into one splendid moment.  I had never felt so important in my life.

 As kids will do, I shared the details of that day with anyone who would listen.  I was on a Presidential high.  I don't know exactly how many days passed before President Kennedy arrived in Dallas, but I sure do remember the day he left Dallas.  I was in school and going to my last class of the day,  We were changing classes, and as I walked down the crowded school stairs, I heard some male voice say, "They shot the nigger loving President today".  Because there was a great deal of racial bias and ignorance at that time (it was the last year of all-white classes at our school), I was not unaccustomed to hearing that hateful word.  And at first, it didn't dawn on me what he had really said.  I got to my classroom and saw some of the girls crying.  Still, I hadn't put it all together or maybe I didn't want to.  Then when the bell rang and everyone settled down, the teacher explained what had happened in Dallas.  I remember just sitting there and trying not to cry.  I wanted to go home, because I was pretty sure if I went home that my mom would tell me they were wrong, that it wasn't true.  Finally, after what seemed to be hours, school was dismissed at our regular time.  It was so quiet as the whole student body filed out of the large two story school house.  Not any of  the usual yelling and joking around.  I saw our neighbor's car waiting where my mom usually parked.  There was my mom with our neighbor. My mom was sitting in the passenger seat, and I could tell that she had been crying.  Oh hell, then it became real!  I knew that she wasn't going to tell me that it had been some sick joke.  I remember walking toward her, and it seemed like I was walking in a fog or something.  My mind was trying to grasp something that it had no experience with, something that couldn't have happened.  It just couldn't.

 The ride home from school that day is just a blur in my memory.  The next few days are just a blur.  I remember we were glued to the tv.   I remember that one day we decided to go for a little ride to the beach to try to break through the dense sad cloud that had descended over our house, the United States, and much of the world.  We drove over the causeway toward the beach and stopped at a little roadside diner just to get Cokes and snacks.  While we were standing there at the counter waiting for our order, we were watching the little black and white tv that was behind the counter.  All at once, live on tv, Jack Ruby shot Oswald.  My mom was aghast, but it didn't even phase me.  I don't think I even realized that it was a real event.  I was just so numb from the assassination of President Kennedy that I couldn't feel anything else.

 Days later, I remember crying and crying as we sat on the couch in the living room and watched the President's funeral on tv.  That damned drum beat was like hammering more pain into a wound.  I remember feeling so proud of Ms. Kennedy as she stood there.  She looked so brave to me.  I remember wondering how she could compose herself and do all the things she had to do.  I was a mess, and she was so together.  How did she do that?

 That day, forty years ago in Dallas, we baby boomers lost our idealistic virginity.  We discovered that fairy tales really aren't real, but  scary tales can be.  We learned that no one is truly safe.  We learned that death can come to anyone at anytime.   Even people who we place on the highest pedestal can be reached by a bullet.  We learned so much that even after forty years, we are still trying to figure it all out.  And, it's still so mysterious, and it's still so frightening.

 That day just about forty years ago, as I stood there and anticipated the reality of shaking hands with the President of the United States, was such an incredibly special day.  It was like a dream.  It was like nothing I could have imagined.  And a few days later there was another incredible day, another day like nothing I could have imagined, but this one was like a nightmare. 

 Today is the anniversary of that nightmare and the memories continue to hurt.   But, as with most pain, it silently and gently tiptoes away.  It's never completely gone, it just seems to blend into life a little better as time goes by.  It's been forty years since President Kennedy was murdered. 

 Thank goodness I skipped school one day, so I could  go and shake his hand.  Nothing has ever been the same since.