A GREAT AMERICAN TRAGEDY

    The dictionary describes a 'defining moment' as a noun meaning very crucial, critical, decisive, a point of no return and a turning point.
       
    Every generation has them. For my parents, it was December 7, 1941. It was a day that would live in 'infamy.'
   
    For today's generation it has to be September 11, 2001 when those towel headed bastards killed three thousand of our citizens on our own soil.
But that's another story.
   
    Defining moments are moments that we never forget. We know exactly where we were and what we were doing when that moment occurred.
   
    For my generation that defining moment happened fifty years ago today,. November 22, 1963 when a lone gunman fired shots from the Texas School Book Depository and snuffed the life out of the President of the United States.   

    Sometimes I may forget someone's birthday or an anniversary. Hell, last week I couldn't remember where I put my car keys.

    But I remember that day in November like it was yesterday.           

    I was a twelve year old seventh grader at Hickory Junior High School in Hickory, Pennsylvania. I had gone down to the gymnasium to purchase a book for the weekend.  
       
    I was walking towards the book table when a class mate ran up to me. She said "I just heard that someone shot him."  "Shot who?"  I asked. "The President." was her reply.

    By the time I got back to my home room, word had spread. We didn't have cell phones and internet in the olden days, so word did not spread at the speed of light. In those days it was  more like the speed of sound. Our teachers did everything they could to keep us calm. The Cuban Missile Crises occurred the year before and was still fresh in all of our young minds. We were all certain that the "Ruskies" had something to do with it and the missiles would soon be flying.

    But that was not the case.

    When I got home that afternoon, mother had the TV on. I will never forget those three days. Everyone was glued to the TV watching those black and white images.

    Certain images from that long and dreadful weekend are permanently etched upon my brain.
   
    The plane unloading the casket back in Washington, where  we saw the blood stains on Mrs. Kennedy's dress. I remember being glad that we didn't have a color TV.

    The images of that nut case bar owner stuffing a gun in the gut of the assassin. (Notice I did not use the word "alleged")
   
    The riderless horse and the flag draped casket as it went down Pennsylvania Avenue.

    But the image I remember best, and maybe it's because we see it so often is that of a young boy almost three years old saluting his father.

    Those few moments 50 years ago, changed the course of history. Just like December 7 and September 11.

    I wonder what would have occurred had those shots not been fired on that November day in Dallas.

    JFK would have certainly been re-elected in 1964 and would have paved the way for his brothers election in 1968.

    Just think: No Nixon. No Watergate. What would have happened in Vietnam? Would he have pulled us out? We will never know.

    Our history is dotted with defining moments, some huge like that day in Dallas, some so minor we don't even notice them. Maybe a car accident that claims the life of a young man that would have gone on to discover a cure for cancer. Or a college choice gone wrong that may have led to another great discovery.

    It makes life interesting and unpredictable.

    As I took a few moments this morning to remember, I got to thinking,  "No matter what your politics are, we have to agree that it truly was a "Great American Tragedy"

    Have a nice Thanksgiving