The day of Dallas.
Forty-four years ago, 1963.
I have a memory from that day -- dismissal from school on the afternoon President Kennedy was killed. It was a Friday, clear and bright, and Officer Charlie Thomas, the usually jolly crossing guard for my town, wept as he held up his arms to stop traffic in front of our school. Whenever we get to November, around Thanksgiving, I look at the silver bark of trees, washed in bright afternoon sunlight, and I think of the day Kennedy died and how the world seemed to shatter.
It was a heart-scorching moment that no longer seems like yesterday. It was a huge national tragedy and an international event that, by the force of time, has finally become a still life rather than living history, black-and-white instead of color.
Those who can remember Nov. 22, 1963, are saddened by the memories, but the hurt is not as acute as it once was. The scars have faded. Only time has made that possible.
The JFK assassination was the 9/11 of my childhood, and 9/11 is the JFK assassination of my children's lives. My daughter was 9 when the terrorists attacked the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. I was the same age when JFK was killed. The memories of the effect of JFK's assassination on the grownups around us --- their shock at the murder of promise and the death of an ideal -- will remain forever with those of us of an age to remember.
I used to think we dwelled too much on JFK's death and that we attributed to Dallas more of an impact on American life, politics and culture than any such single event deserved. But I've changed my mind as time goes by. I think it marked the birth of an age of cynicism that persists to this day. The events that followed Dallas -- within five years, JFK's brother Robert and Martin Luther King Jr. were murdered; and the Vietnam War ripped the country apart -- compounded the condition. We have not been upset or particularly disturbed by it; we've grown used to it. Though its wings have flickered in the shadows of American life from time to time, I have not yet seen the great, exotic bird of idealism, fully restored and perched on the arm of a president. John F. Kennedy said: "Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country." Four decades later, the president told an interviewer that it's sufficient sacrifice for Americans to watch TV news about the Iraq war and feel distressed. After the terrorist attacks of 2001, he did not call for more volunteerism and public service; he suggested "live your lives" and go shopping, and we certainly do plenty of that now.