I was five years old a long time ago.
Not my father. Not my mother. Not my sister.
I started first grade that year. There was a girl in my class with curly blonde hair. We kissed once. I don’t remember her name.
I shook hands with Richard Boone that year. Remember him? Paladin? Have Gun, Will Travel? His hand was sweaty that day.
Kennedy was elected president that year. I was relieved because my sister had told me that Nixon was going to make kids go to school on Saturdays.
I became aware of space travel that year. We began to worry about the Russians.
To Kill a Mockingbird was published but I didn’t read it until ten years later.
3500 American soldiers were sent to Vietnam. I would later join the military and become a Vietnam era veteran. Fortunately, I never had to walk through the jungles.
I remember Eisenhower, I remember Khrushchev, I remember DeGaulle, I remember Castro and Che.
I remember Cassius Clay.
I remember test pilots were pushing the envelope. I admired their courage but, I don’t remember their names.
I remember Yancy Derringer but they must have been reruns.
I remember sitting in the front room of my parent’s house, watching the tornados spin past.
I don’t remember a “Hero” though.
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