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November 22, 1963

A common-born child was changed by the death of a man one day. Back in the 60's, (I remember.) when barefoot kids were called in, from carefree play. A rowdy, raucous group, (Tag, you're 'it' No! Tag, I got you back.) tumbling into the backdoor, in answer to Momma's call. I, being first inside, pulled up short, knowing something just wasn't right. The deep voice of a man was blaring from the radio. (No country songs playing quietly while she worked.) She hushed us sharply. Then, I saw her face, palled and drawn, having saucer eyes, as when hot clouded coffee is poured out to cool. (I had never met her fear before.) The words of the announcer echoed across a hollow room, “President John F Kennedy, the thirty-fifth president of the United States died today...” Even I the youngest, could catch the significance of what we heard, that somber day the country reeled. (The punch in the gut struck me as well.) On Friday, November 22, 1963 my innocence of childhood left, and while standing barefoot in a poor man's house, I felt kinship with the world.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2010

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Date: 7/5/2010 5:29:00 AM
It was nice for me as somebody not too good at history to find out what happened, I didn't recognise the date, gives me a different view point, you've captured the moment well - enjoyed reading your poem
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Date: 7/2/2010 12:44:00 AM
For our generation a vivid memory indeed Virginia.Rgds Brian
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Date: 6/29/2010 9:21:00 PM
Virginia, This is really great writing. An outstanding topic. It really hits home for those of us who lived it. I was 8 years old. I really knew little of him at the time but I still remember the pall cast over eveyone that day. I think it was the first real tragic national event I personally felt and sadly, there have been others since to equal it! LUv, Andrea
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