60 Years Later #WordlessWednesday

In the United States, it is the day before Thanksgiving.

We have so much to be thankful for, and sometimes it is easy to forget how fortunate we are.

On Saturday, we visited our local farmers market and saw the bounty of the season.  

Carrots and parsnips.

Yellow and purple cauliflower.

Wild Twist apples, a cross between Honeycrisp and Pink Lady.  These are a late apple, unlike Honeycrisp.

But today is more than the day before Thanksgiving.  It is an anniversary of the event that marked my generation the way a great tragedy marks (it seems) each generation.  But let me start with the story of a pet bird, a repeat of part of a post from 2022.

I grew up in a New York City housing project which prohibited dogs or cats.  My Mom had brought home various goldfish, but eventually they all went to the large aquarium in the sky.

One of my aunts, who lived a couple of miles from me, had three pets:  two cats and a canary.

It was a male (only male canaries sing) and it sang so beautifully.  For me, watching it, it was instant love.  I've always been attracted to birds and started begging Mom for a canary of my own.
 

When I was about eight, Mom decided I was old enough to care for a pet, and  off to the pet shop we went.  Mom and I came home with a yellow canary.

"Singer" became a friend and companion for me, an only child.  He would sing for me, do little tricks with his seed bell and swing, and entertain me in general with his antics during his weekly bath.  In fact, I was able (with a lot of patience) to train him to sit on my finger, and even to sit on my shoulder.  I have a picture, somewhere of me (in a bathrobe, as I recall), with "Singer" perched on me. 

His songs and company were just what I needed after I broke my leg in three places and had to spend the next two months at home because my elementary school classroom was on the 4th floor and there was no elevator in the school building.  (I was home educated by a teacher sent to my apartment until after my cast was removed.  I blogged about that several years ago. I owe a lot to that teacher.)

Sadly, Singer passed away during my recovery.  I remember the date, too, because it was the day before President John F. Kennedy was assassinated.  I was still in my leg cast. 

Yes, people of my generation remember the date November 22, 1963 well. 

That morning, I was at home, reading or doing homework, perhaps.  My mother had left me to go shopping.  She returned home, and was crying as she opened the door to our Bronx apartment.

Mom turned on the TV, and the next three days were nonstop television coverage.  I had a doctor's appointment the following Monday to have the progress of my leg healing checked, and I remember watching some of the funeral coverage in the waiting room.

We went to the pet store the day after Kennedy died to buy another canary.  In the pet store cage was a yellow canary with a black spot on top of his head.  My Mom and I agreed the bird had the spot to mourn Kennedy, and that was the bird we took home with us.

It's been 60 years since that sad early afternoon when my Mom came home crying and turned the TV set on.  I still find that, in some ways, hard to believe. 

I am thankful for you, my readers.  For those in the United States, may you have a joyous Thanksgiving tomorrow.  For the world, is it too much to hope for peace and full stomachs for all?

 

Joining Sandee at Comedy Plus for #WordlessWednesday.