I am very happy to present a guest post from the lovely Darlene Foster. Blogger, and published author of the popular ‘Amanda’ series of books, Darlene is from Canada, and lives in Spain.
Babies and Blizzards
By Darlene Foster
I remember when my brother, Timothy, was born. It had been a typical cold and snowy prairie winter with blizzards creating impassable road conditions. Mom expected the third member of our family to arrive in early February. Dad was concerned that the inclement weather might stop him from getting her to the hospital sixty miles away, when the time came. So he took mom and my younger brother, Lorne to stay with our grandparents in the city well before her due date. Since I had school, I stayed with my great-aunt and great-uncle in the small town near our farm.
I was excited about this as I loved Aunt Elsie and…
One question often asked of those of us who were around at the time is, “Where were you when you heard that President John F Kennedy had been shot?” I remember the day clearly even though it happened fifty-seven years ago.
I’d like to share with you a poem a poet friend of mine wrote.
22/11/63
A shot rang out across the years
embedded itself in a nation’s fears.
November the month with stains on its soul
history stilled near a green grassy knoll.
The New Camelot was shattered
and everything that mattered
suddenly not an issue
as fragile as brain tissue.
poem by John McGilvary
John F. Kennedy May 29, 1917 – November 22, 1963
It was a sad day indeed. I remember it was recess time at school and one of the boys said that Kennedy had been shot. I said that it wasn’t funny and he shouldn’t joke about things like that. Once we returned to class, the teacher was visibly upset and broke the news that the President of the United States had indeed been shot. I couldn’t believe it. I thought about his beautiful wife and adorable little children and cried. There have been many other sad events since then, but this sticks with me as it was the first international news that affected me as a young girl living a sheltered life on the Canadian prairies.
Do you recall that day?
“We must never forget that art is not a form of propaganda; it is a form of truth.” JFK
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