Horrible memory… I had just had breakfast…. coffee and a buttered English muffin…. in my Baba’s apartment. I was about to leave for an adult education class I was taking, when Baba asked if I’d heard about John Lennon.
“No, what?” I asked. I expected to hear something good. Never in a million years could I figure that the next words I’d hear were:
“He was shot.”
I just barely managed to say, “WHAT???!!!!”
I couldn’t speak.
One of my classmates lived near The Dakota. She told us she’d heard the shots.
Later that day, I turned on my radio. The DJ said something about not knowing whether to cry, or curse.
I think many of us did both.
That was the day my teen years officially, belatedly ended.