Could it be that forty six years has passed since the assassination of John Fitzgerald Kennedy? Could it also be that so many do not remember that fateful day, or is it that so many more terrible things have happened since then, that the significance pales in comparison?

Often, I hear people ask, "What were you doing"? on some monumental or historical day. I was newly sixteen. In fact, I was sixteen years and nearly one month old. I was in love with a boy that I later married, but right then I was just a face in the crowd at Richard T Crane high school. I had transferred there from Farragut High after some personal trouble and my days and nights were filled with what I assumed to be "grown up" chatter and endless laughter. My crowd spent a lot of time looking down our noses at Freshmen and dreamily watching the Seniors who seemed "all the way" grown up and on their way to a bright life.

Motown songs were beginning to flood the radio. The Beatles were still in high gear, Elvis was very much alive and my favorite class was biology with Mr David Layman. Viet Nam was a place far away where a lot of our boys were being drafted to go and John, Jackie, Caroline and John-John made up the most beautiful family we had ever seen in the white house. At least that we knew of.

We were in P.E. and I was refusing to climb that rope or pole in the middle of the gym. Our teacher, Miss Pearson was giving me a lecture on something and then we hit the showers. I had once again gotten out of doing that rope thing, and the girls all thought of me as quite a character. I never told that I was simply afraid and my bravado was based on fear of that thing flying out from under me. What I did say, with much flippancy was that I thought high school was preparation for the future, and since my future included getting married, I highly doubted that my husband would be requesting that I climb a rope in the center of our living room.  "That mouth will get you a failing grade for the day, Missy" Miss Pearson said. "Do what you need to do" was always my answer.

When we left the gym, chattering and giggling, we were immediately taken into a strange atmosphere. The hallways that were usually teeming with kids and teachers and locker doors slamming, was practically silent. Some kids were standing in little groups. Girls were crying and I knew something had gone terribly wrong when I saw my homeroom teacher, Mrs Rasmussen, weeping in the arms of a male teacher.  In whispered tones, you could hear, "The president"......and when we found out that he had been shot, many people began weeping as well. I decided not to cry.

This was President John F Kennedy and Kennedys just do not die.

I mean, not the ones who could help it. I knew vaguely of a brother who was in the service and on a plane that crashed.....but current Kennedys remained alive, if for no other reason than not to upset Miss Rose, and besides...what would Jackie do without her husband? Had they not suffered enough by losing their baby right in front of the public eye? 

When I picked up my younger brother from the sitter I could see that she looked stricken but shooed us home, as if something terrible might happen to us in a block and a half. Once inside our apartment, I flipped on the television and there was the image that would remain in my mind for life.

I didnt for some reason, turn up the sound. I could see the parade -like atmosphere, and since we had a black and white television, I had no idea that Jackie's suit was pink, or that they were nearing the place that would remain infamous forever. I turned up the sound, to hear the news announcer giving that blow-by-blow descriptive and then I saw our president slump. I watched in horror as our pristine first lady climbed up on the back of the car, shouting something, but the "something" was already done.  The announcer did his job and told us that "The president is dead".

My mother called from work and asked if we were alright. My brother, six years my junior, played obliviously with his little army men, whiie something deep and awful stuck in my throat and refused to be swallowed. I have not forgotten the feeling, but it has been replaced many times over as life threw me curve balls at rapid speed. Some of those balls were thrown at everyone in the world, some were my own personal gut wrenchings, but they contained the same bile-producing thing that comes from somewhere, rests in your throat and stays awhile.

Since then, Kennedys have appeared in the news in various conditions. Some held places of honor, while others brought societal shame. Some died on their own, while others were carried from the ocean or lay on a platform, bereft of life with their causes soon forgotten.

Today, I prefer to remember and to honor that memory of a fallen president who helped to change the history of the United States, just as Lincoln did. Just as many others have and just as our current leaders will.

Miss Jackie in her digified dark glasses and veil, little lady Caroline and the poignant and haunting salute of little John-John are the stuff that keeps some of us going. I hope that someone, besides a few...will remember without prejudice and smile a little smile, remembering where you were on the Day of JFK.