More than once, my mom spoke of what it was like to hear the news of President John F. Kennedy’s assassination.
If I recall right, she heard it on the car radio, when she was driving with my sister and I, ages two and four, in the back seat. She was stopped at the light on Reidville Road right by the old J.M. Fields shopping center and the Phillips 66 gas station. She tried to hold it together—play the “everything is okay” mommy—but couldn’t.
It was something I understood, yet didn’t really ‘get.’