Year Six - 5th Grade It was a Friday afternoon. We had been told to clean our desks, which, for me, was a daunting task. I was a good kid in 5th Grade, got along well with all the teachers, but there was still some me in me, so there I was, in the back of the room, with my little transistor radio, which I had saved up weeks of allowance money to buy from Two Guys and which I had illicitly smuggled in. Thru the little cream colored earpiece the song played - Be my, be my baby - Be my little ba-by - my one and only baby... Miss Irene Gately caught a glimpse of me and gave me a half disapproving/half disappointed stare. I matter of factly, but furtively, removed the earpiece and shoved it into my still festering desk, then reached in with my other hand and turned off the radio. A few minutes later Mr Thompson came to the door. That was unusual in and of itself, and his look was that normal grumpy one. She walked over to speak with him and he beckoned her out into the hallway. I briefly considered hooking up to my radio again, taking advantage of the opportunity, but thought the better of it. She came back into the room and closed the door behind her. She was even whiter than normal. Class... She got our attention without her normal stern firmness - she actually seemed somewhat... I dont know, tender? Class, President Kennedy has been shot... We all looked up and were all earnestly well behaved and vulnerable at that moment. Someone asked if he had died. She said she didnt think so. Someone asked how serious was it; she didnt know. She said we should continue cleaning out our desks, and when done, to just sit quietly and read. We were all in shock, and very afraid. The Cuban Missile Crisis was just a year old and had caused a great amount of trauma among many of us. We had no idea what this was or what to expect. She also asked us to pray. (Hey, it was 1963...) About a half an hour later, Thompson came to the door and tap knocked. This time she didnt leave the room but just poked her head out. She came back in with a frown. We all kind of knew what the deal was by her expression, but before she could even speak a word, an ungodly wail emanated from the room next door. Miss Harveys wail told us everything we needed to know. Miss Gately told us to gather up our things - we were being dismissed. It was quiet and orderly. I lived across the street and so once out the door I sprinted home. When youre young these things - even such terrible things - make you giddy; the game had changed, and that was, for better or worse, exciting. I couldnt wait to tell the old man. I ran into the house and over to the bathroom door. The old man was shaving in anticipation of going to his second job, so he was already not in a great mood, scowling. Pop! Pop! President Kennedy got shot! I musta been even smiling a bit. Without hesitation the old man wheeled around and smacked me across the face. Then, menacing me with that razor in his hand, he said, You dont make jokes about that! I was too stunned to cry, and besides, I had a more important agenda. Im serious, Pop! Cmere and look! I went over to our Vornado black and white tv and turned it on. It took about 20 seconds to warm up, during which time my father skeptically followed me into the living room. When it had warmed up, there were news reporters, talking about the demise of the President. The first Catholic president. The one that was nearly exactly my fathers age, with a son and a daughter, just like us. Dead. Murdered. I cant believe it, my father repeated over and over. I cant believe it. It was that weekend that I first encountered the word disbelief... https://youtube/watch?v=2g_FD_sYazk
Posted on: Mon, 21 Jul 2014 11:54:00 +0000
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