People often talk about remembering exactly where they were the moment they heard that President John F. Kennedy was shot. I was in Miss Ishikowa's second grade classroom, and I was seven years old. Perhaps that explains why my reaction was so juvenile. I hate to admit it, but I was thrilled.
In my defence, I really didn't know much about what a President was, or even about what the word assasinated meant. All I knew was that my mom and dad had not voted for Kennedy, and they were disappointed when he won the election the previous year. In my young mind that meant he was a bad guy, so it was good that he was gone.
I remember walking into our house that afternoon, announcing to mom that a wonderful thing had happened. President Kennedy wasn't our president anymore. I'll never forget the look on her face, or the lecture I received. Mom was NOT happy with me. She told me in no uncertain terms that whether we voted for someone or not, once a man became our president, he was OUR president, and we supported, upheld, and respected him regardless of what political party he belonged to.
Furthermore, she told me, we are never happy when someone dies, and especially not if they are murdered. No matter what! By the time mom was done I had a pretty good idea that I had not only misunderstood the whole matter, I was also in pretty big trouble.
I vaguely remember the following week, but mostly because my favorite TV shows were replaced with footage of the assassination and President Kennedy's funeral, so I played outside a lot more than usual. It wasn't until years later in history class that I finally began to comprehend the significance of this moment in time, but I have never forgotten the lesson in patriotism my mother taught me on that fateful day in November, 1963.
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