Today, the 50th anniversary of the assassination of JFK, the images are inescapable. The handsome young president, his beautiful wife, their young children. The shock of the tragedy bringing the nation to a halt for days.
My husband just told me that only 33% of Americans alive today were alive on the day JFK died. I’m in that category. I was just a few weeks short of my 7th birthday, a year older than Caroline Kennedy. Till that day, I’d thought of her as so lucky, an American princess living in the White House.
On that day, with my mother and grandmother crying in the kitchen after they heard the news, all I could think about was how was she going to live without her Dad. My Dad was the center of the solar system in my house – a smart, funny, ambitious Boston Irish Catholic who was committed to making his mark in the world. Kind of like Caroline’s Dad.
Much of the news coverage about JFK 50 years later is focused on what might have happened in the world if he had lived. As for me, I’m still sorry that Caroline lost her Dad.