Forty Years Ago

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???!!!!”

“He’s dead.”

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.

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