I Remember It Well

Everyone's heard the introductory phrase, "I remember exactly where I was when..."

JFK was shot.

Elvis Presley died.

Neil Armstrong walked on the moon.

All of those things happened way before my time, but I've wondered recently when I became old enough to use that phrase.

I remember exactly where I was when...

Princess Diana died.

My mom's parents owned a lakehouse for much of my childhood. I have precious memories there of swimming in an ALF life jacket with my brother and cousins and laying in a peaceful hammock with my mom and taking long boat rides on the Pontoon with the entire cast of these technicolor memories. I remember, too, barrelling downstairs from a long night's sleep-- sleep at the lakehouse is unlike any other, serenaded all night long by an attic fan and crickets just outside the window-- hair a mess, pajamas on. The TV in the living room was on and tuned into what must have been the one channel that old house received. And that's where I heard the news. Princess Diana, every little girl's hope of a Cinderella fantasy come true, had died.

O.J. Simpson was declared innocent.

I know very little of who O.J. Simpson was before he killed his wife. He is forever ingrained in my memory in a suit and tie standing in a courtroom, or flying down the busy Interstate in his white Bronco. My mom says he was a nice guy, funny and likeable. But to me, he was just the subject of endless media speculation: was he or wasn't he guilty? I think everyone in my life felt convinced that O.J. was guilty, so I was more than a little shocked when they announced over the intercom in my second grade classroom that "O.J. Simpson has been found not guilty." My teacher, a wonderful African-American woman who was as new to the school as I was, yelled out, "Praise glory!" And that was that.

The Columbine shooting occurred.

I couldn't tell you whether I was in 4th or 5th grade, but I know that I was in middle school (and in my town, 4th grade constituted a move across the street to the middle school). I know, too, that on that particular day, our lunchroom had had an electrical fire and let school out early. A helicopter from a local news station flew overhead, capturing the damage of what they surely thought would be big news, as I waited on the playground for my ride. It seemed bizarre to me later that day that I had been let out of school early on the day that so many kids at another school across the country had been massacred. I guess at that age I didn't really realize the great distance that lay between my school and Columbine, but I remember feeling lucky that I had happened to have been dismissed early... before something like that could happen at my own school, I guess. This is the first time, too, that I remember feeling like there was true bad in the world.

The twin towers fell.

I was in Mrs. Hudgins' 8th grade Algebra I class. Class was almost over when Mrs. Hudgins was called into the hall by an administrator. Of course, we students took advantage of her absence to pack up and talk to our neighbors, and when she got back she immediately quieted us down and told us what was a mystery to her. The World Trade Center had been hit, whether by accident or not she didn't know. The bell rang, and I walked two or three doors down to Gifted Ed. As I walked into Mrs. Zimmer's room, I saw a plane drill into the side of a skyscraper. I asked immediately if that was a replay, but it wasn't. I actually witnessed the second plane hitting the second tower, which seems odd and almost surreal to me now. I talked to my eighth grade boyfriend later that night about whether or not the terrorists would target somewhere closer to us, like the Arsenal or TVA. We were thinkers, he and I.

I guess years from now I'll reminisce about where I was when Michael Jackson died, or Farrah Fawcett, or when President Obama was elected the first African-American president... And who knows what else.