November 22, 1963 This day in November is etched in my memory. Like an eternal flame it burns somberly. I am that old to remember. To remember the sense of hope and the sense of promise many in the country felt. And the utter loss of innocence, the twisted confusion and dark reality of the aftermath. Camelot was fictional. Of course it was and always had been. A standing president was murdered. Assassinated. We watched. In black and white. Stunned. The crime remains unsolved. Reiterating a covert and purposefully fumbled investigation. Ensuring citizens remain uninformed. As in feudal times. Do not kid yourself. The powers that be benefit from ignorance. No matter the color of their stripes. So help me God. My mother, a stalwart Democrat and Kennedy supporter, was devastated beyond the pale. Often wonder if this tragedy drove her to incurable despair. Her fragile mindset so near the edge of impractical sanity as it was. The summer after that November, my family visited Kennedy’s grave. Unearthly walking that sacred earth. The slaughter still reverberating a thrum in my young mind. I had no wisdom then. No cynicism. No first hand experience of death. However, the green fields of Robert E Lee’s Arlington estate steeped me in sorrow beyond my years. Humbled I was by the sacrifice for God and country. Forever.
Posted on: Fri, 22 Nov 2013 20:37:52 +0000
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