44 years ago today

[proud2BlibKansan]

I was 10. In the 5th grade. And life changed. They killed my president.

I was raised Catholic and went to Catholic school till 8th grade. My uncle was a priest and my mom's cousin was a nun. We had a huge happy very Catholic (and very Democratic) family. My childhood world was immersed in Catholicism. John F Kennedy was like a combination living saint and folk hero in our Catholic world. I can still remember how happy my parents were when he was elected. And they just adored him. It really was a Camelot kind of feeling.

Then came Nov 22, 1963. And I saw my mother cry for the first time. I saw my grandmother cry too. We were watching the endless coverage on TV and my sister and I were laying on the floor in front of the TV. I heard a strange sound behind me and realized my mom was crying. Then I heard my grandma make the same sound. And I remember being afraid to turn around and look at them. It was a loss of innocence moment and I was not ready for it.

It was also the first time I ever heard anyone say anything bad about Catholics. Before then I had no idea that some people didn't like Catholics. I don't even remember exactly what our neighbor Mrs. Frieze said but it was mean. My sister and I decided it was a mean enough thing to say that we would no longer play with her kids. We were constantly feuding with the Frieze kids anyway so it wasn't hard to decide we would take a stand and not play with them. And after a few weeks Mrs. Frieze came to my dad to complain that my sister and I were refusing to play with her kids. And I remember my dad asking me to explain to her why we wouldn't play with her kids. Well I was just as outspoken then as I am today and I gladly told that bitch that since she didn't like Catholics, we decided not to like her kids. (Years later my mom told me my dad laughed for days about this.)

The following summer, my dad's best friend died in the middle of the night of a brain aneurism. That's when I saw my dad cry for the first time. It's funny how we remember things years later and I remember knowing I really wasn't a kid anymore because I had seen my parents cry.

I also knew from the beginning that someone was lying to us about who killed JFK and how they did it. I used to argue with my dad about this. We watched the Warren commission hearings with our eyes wide open; I was convinced my dad would finally see that there had to be more than one shooter. But that was not to be. Then many years later, when the Senate held its own investigation and concluded there had to be more than one shooter, my dad called me to tell me I was right.

This summer, on the way home from Camp Casey, I stopped in Dallas and went to Dealey Plaza and the Texas Book Depository. You can stand right at the window where Oswald stood and look down on the street. There are even marks on the street to show where the shots landed. I will admit I know nothing about guns and shooting but even an amateur like me can easily see that it would have been impossible for one shooter at that window to fire those three shots in that time frame. No way. It was also interesting to stand there and listen to the people coming up to that window and seeing the same thing I saw and hearing them whisper to each other that there was no way Oswald acted alone.

RIP JFK. And I miss my country too.