47 years ago, we had just finished gym class when our teacher told us the awful news. Our beloved President, John F. Kennedy, had been killed in Dallas, Texas. To this day, the words “assassination” and “Zapruder film” are inextricably linked.
In my mind’s eye, I can still see the exact spot where I was standing, unable to take it in. We’d never experienced an event of this magnitude. Sadly, it was not to be the last; remember Martin and Bobby?
Ironically, the next day was to be the first non-family birthday party I’d been allowed to have. I think you can guess how that went. To tell you the truth, I don’t remember if it took place or not; I know I received gifts, but I don’t think I had a party.
So, each year on November 22, when my husband yet again wishes me “Happy Birthday”, I shake my head and smile. My birthday is almost a Fibonacci number (11/23/51), not a day that will live in infamy.