Mom and Dad must have been at work.
My kindergarten was 3 houses down from our house.
Somehow I ended up with Mrs. Kuethe.
She was inconsolable that day, that day JFK was gunned down,
in the height of his perfection,
not a cloud in the sky.
I was 5.
What did I know of consoling the inconsolable?
It turns out, plenty.
I sat there, catching tears, holding her shaking trembling, wet hand.
She clasped my tiny hand in hers and gave me her half toothless grin,
struggling to smile until a wave of grief knocked her over again.
I was jealous of JFK's daughter, living that perfect lifestyle by
what we saw in the media,
we are about the same age.
That day it all changed.
I was relieved my father was never gunned down in the streets.
This painting I have posted twice,
once more for JFK,
a truly great man,
and his family that remain,
may they have peace this day.