October 22nd, 1962. Two memories are bonded together on this day. The first is sitting around a table in the basement of our church, First St. Paul’s Lutheran. I’m with my fellow Cub Scouts looking at knots on a big plywood board and struggling to do the intricate patterns with the help of Mr. Goldenstein. It was sort of a leader and the twelve little apostles moment.
The other memory is coming home from the meeting for supper. It is after dark since daylight savings time wouldn’t be used for another four years. Opening the door to our dimly lit living room I find aunt Verna and mom are watching the president talking in shades of fuzzy greys and whites about Cuba and missiles. They hardly seemed to notice me.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“We may be going to war with Russia.” they say with a mix of anger, disgust, and worry. I was almost ten years old hearing something I only vaguely understood. Continue reading