Where were you?
For much of my generation, December 8, 1980, is the terrible day we remember so clearly. It marked the first time in my almost eight years of life that I was allowed to stay up late on a school night to watch the news.
My dad was watching football when Howard Cosell made the announcement that John Lennon had been shot. He hollered upstairs for my mother, and we all joined him in the family room.
My cousin Michael introduced me to the Beatles, especially Lennon, almost from birth. If Mike said John Lennon was the man, that was enough for me. I felt like I'd lost a friend. As my family stared at the TV in shock, I crawled up into my dad's chair, terrified and sobbing inconsolably. The worst conceivable thing for little kids is the death of a parent. I remember thinking of Sean Lennon, and not being able to hold onto my dad tightly enough. I've found the holiday season depressing ever since.
It remains as incomprehensible now as it was 25 years ago. It's hard to imagine what John Lennon would be like today, in a world filled with unnecessary wars and iPods and rap stars and artificial sweeteners and so much madness.
I won't join the throngs of fans at the Dakota and Strawberry Fields tonight. Somehow, I feel like John Lennon would think we were idiots for standing around in the freezing cold, mourning someone who's been dead for so long. But I'm grateful to him, and I miss him, and I'll admit to being a little sad today.
How do you remember the day John Lennon died?