Nine Years Gone

November had come and gone. John F. Kennedy would be our next president, and the country buzzed with excitement. The news, as always went over our heads, because Christmas was coming, and the Sears Christmas Wishbook catalog would take center stage in our lives. There were claims that the election was stolen, that politicians in Chicago and Texas somehow "fixed" the voting, but nothing ever came of it; Mr. Nixon graciously conceded without a challenge.
There was other stuff in the news I didn't understand. A big commotion about Sammy Davis Jr. marrying a white woman. Apparently this upset a lot of people, and it was downright illegal in most states of the country. No one could explain to me why there were laws against people being in love. The adults said it was wrong for a black person to marry a white person, so I believed it was true.
Kirk Douglas made a movie called Spartacus, a story about a gladiator who led a slave rebellion against Rome itself. To me it was adventure, battle scenes and excitement. What I didn't understand was the fact that the script was written by Dalton Trumbo, a writer who had been blacklisted; forbidden to work in Hollywood because of his political views. Kirk Douglas took a stand and hired Mr. Trumbo and put his name in the credits, helping to put an end to political discrimination, and closing the door on the Joseph Mcarthy era once and for all. The rebellion part; the fight for freedom part, was a sign of things to come.
John Wayne made a movie about The Alamo, but we didn't buy it. Fess Parker was Davy Crockett, and that was that.
Jerry Lewis was still trying to be funny too, but he was beginning to look pretty pathetic, even to those of us who still liked him. Cinderfella? Come on.
We would go to Aunt Bette's farm for Thanksgiving, our family horde filling her big kitchen with laughter and good cheer. My mom and my aunts would gather there in early December, to bake the piles of Christmas cookies we all would share that season.
The winter of 1960-61 would be long and cold. Snow would fall, lots of it, and there would be skating and sledding and snow forts and hot Campbell's soup on a cold winter's day.
My ninth birthday, and like always a bit overshadowed by Christmas and the holiday rush, but I didn't mind, 'cause I'd get extra presents after all.
We'd take long walks in the snow, Whee-Zee and I.
I especially liked walking in a snowstorm at night, when you could stand in silence and feel the flakes coming down, just a whisper in your ear.
I'd lean my head back with eyes closed, and feel them landing and melting on my face.
After a while I'd open my eyes to the heavens and watch the swirling snowflakes fall, blinking as they landed on my eyelashes.
Just me, standing, and the world all covered in snow.