I still remember the day Kennedy was assassinated. I was just a kid, but some moments dig so deep they stay with you forever. It’s like a haunting tune that never fades out, just lingers in the back of your mind. That day, I got off the school bus and headed home like any other afternoon. Usually, I’d race inside, flip on the TV, and catch Fred Flintstone, maybe Bozo the Clown if I was lucky. But that day? No Bozo, no Flintstone, no cartoons. Just the news. Endless news.
I didn’t fully understand what was happening, only that President Kennedy had been shot, and somehow, the whole world felt heavier. It wasn’t just a sadness in my house or my neighborhood—it felt like the weight had dropped over everything. Even as a kid, I could sense it. In the streets, on the faces of the grown folks, everyone was quiet, everyone was sad. That day made no damn sense to me then, and honestly, even now, I can’t completely wrap my head around it.
It felt like the world had lost something big, something I couldn’t name. I didn’t know a thing about politics or the battles around race and civil rights that were shaking things up back then. All I knew was that something huge and bad had gone down, and it felt like the ground shifted under us all. I don’t know if it was grief, fear, or just the shock of it all, but there was a sadness that felt like a cloud blotting out the sun.
Sometimes, that day reminds me of what it feels like to walk into a new city when I’m out on the road. Ever notice how each place has its own vibe? Some cities feel warm, welcoming. Others feel cold, shut off. Some hold onto a heaviness, while others just float along. Maybe there’s something real to that, like whole cities or groups of people can feel the same way at the same time. Like we’re all linked up by some invisible thread.
That day, when Kennedy was killed, I felt that thread. Even though I didn’t understand what had happened, I could see the pain in everyone around me. It wasn’t just the news—it was in the air, in the way people moved, in how they looked at each other. We all felt that pain together. And even though I’d never want to feel something like that again, it showed me that somehow, we’re all connected.
We lived through it, though. It’s strange—thinking back, I still can’t explain exactly what happened or why it felt the way it did. I just know that we all went through it together, and I still believe we’re connected, each of us, in some way.
What about you? Do you think we’re connected by some invisible string?