I vividly remember sitting in my first-grade classroom on Friday, November 22, 1963. In the midst of a seemingly normal day, our principal interrupted our reading time and announced over the loud speaker that the President had been shot. As a six-year-old, I had no way even to make sense of what that meant. Whatever it meant, though, it seemed that the whole world had changed in an instant.
And that's not all that changed on that weekend in 1963.
My own personal world changed too.
And that's not all that changed on that weekend in 1963.
My own personal world changed too.