Where was I that morning? I was a sophomore at Grosse Pointe High School and in English Lit. class when an announcement was made to return to our Home Room for an important message. There was a buzz in the hallways about someone being shot in the head but I didnt hear that it was President Kennedy until the official word came over the speaker system. We were all stunned; a few of the girls started cry. Classes were dismissed, of course, and I had to take the public bus home since the school buses could not be called back for some reason. When I got home, my mother had the TV on the continuous coverage. I clearly recall seeing Walter Cronkite without his customary suit coat, just white shirt and tie, and stopping to bury his head in his hands. I can still picture the funeral procession and that rider-less horse, so symbolic of our fallen leader. One of my classmates, Candy Geer, wrote the poem Six White Horses. Most of my friends might too young to recall it, so here it is. Six White Horses Six white horses came today to take my Daddy far away. Mommy said I must be good and stand as big as Daddy would. And now Im big so I wont cry when I see my Daddy wave goodbye, cause Daddy is my special friend he always comes back soon again. I cannot wave, I dont see why, theres just a black box moving by. But Mommy says I should be still, Im a big boy now, and so I will. I hear some drums, theyre awful loud, but Mommy is sad and sos the crowd. And everybodys dressed in black, but Daddy soon will hurry back. Were going to take a walk to mass then maybe Ill see my Daddy pass. I wonder why were only three, he always comes to church with me. Two men are talking, I can see, they said theyre very proud of me. They said my Daddys in that box, that black one with six gold locks. I have on a big boys suit and now its my turn to salute. I do it just like big boys do, because I have to be one too. Theyre going to stop, and then just leave, but in that box, how can he breathe? Though I do not understand, theres Mommy here to hold my hand. Hes going to leave and not come home! We just cant leave him here alone. I want to hear him laugh and say, John-John, come here so we can play. I dont see Daddy anywhere, I want to cry and I dont care. Hes in the ground, he cannot be, he should be right here holding me. But Mommy says I must be good, so Ill stand as Daddy would. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - (c) Written by Candy Geer, a 15 year old High School Student. When she wrote this poem, Candy Geer, was a student at Grosse Pointe High School, now Grosse Pointe South High School, in a suburb of Detroit. Where were You?
Posted on: Fri, 22 Nov 2013 11:27:05 +0000
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