Of a long weekend

Of a long weekend, forty-five years ago,

Sitting in my fourth grade class, on a Friday,

Listening to the principal on the intercom telling us that President Kennedy had been killed,

Getting told to go home,

Riding home on my bike on a cloudy day,

Seeing a next-door neighbor, Dorcas Johnson, working in her garden,

Being asked why I was home so early,

Telling her what happened,

Seeing her go inside, not believing me,

Finding my Dad at home, off sick from work that day,

Hearing him say that he already knew,

Watching Oswald get shot in the stomach on live TV, on Sunday, two days later,

Running to the kitchen to tell my parents,"Oswald just got shot!",

Watching the funeral procession on TV in the school library the next day, a Monday,

I have indelible memories.

prompted by the post Forty Five Years on firedoglake