Shoot The Moose

Others have posted, quite eloquently, about the anniversary of the death of president Kennedy. Their words speak for me; I want to let it be known right away that I fully agree with their sentiments and I understand the solemnity of the occasion.

But, at Shoot the Moose, there is always a bizarre angle to every story, and today is no different. My connection to the assassination of president Kennedy is, to say the least, strange. I mean no disrespect, but every year at this time, I have to giggle just a little.

I was born in mid-August of 1964. I was a preemie, about a month early - give or take a week. One year, I did the math, and what I found shocked me. I was conceived in

"late December, back in '63..."

Oh.My.God.

This knowlege ruined a perfectly good Frankie Valli song for me. EEEWWWW.

What the DEVIL does this have to do with JFK? Well, according to my parents, the remainder of 1963, starting with November 22, was solely and completely about JFK. Think about the months following 9/11. Things that normally happened continued to happen, they were just not reported on the news (rightly), because Bigger things were afoot. My parents tell me that there was 24/7 coverage of this tragedy for weeks. That was extraordinary - the TV stations were not geared for the 24 hour news cycle back then.

Now, perhaps, I was a "comfort" baby. Maybe, my parents were so distraugt that they found solice in, well, "making" me. More than likely, they were Democrats at the time - they were young and southern, and back then, that meant "Democrat". So they would have been double-distressed. But, knowing human nature, that's probably not the case.

My mom was 18, my dad, 21. (Hey, it was 1963 - don't be judging the 'rents!). They were young parents, and probably by this time, bored. I am thouroughly convinced that I am here blogging before you today because there was nothing on TV. Oh, what a night, indeed.