It stared out a nice enough day. The weather was unusually warm for the third week in November, so I was in a good mood when my mother dropped me off at school. Everything went as usual that morning; the classes were boring and nothing exciting was happening. At noon, I went to cafeteria for lunch. While I was standing in line with my friends, I noticed that some of the other students were excited about something. Then a girl in line ask me if had heard that someone had shot the president. I was surprised at this news; however, I figured that it was probably just a minor wound. Suddenly a voice came over the loud speaker announcing that the president was dead. Silence was a hush in the cafeteria. Students stopped eating. No one was moving; it was as if we were all frozen. That afternoon the teachers allowed the student to express their feelings about what had happened. Even my old stodgy English teacher did not conduct class as usual. She did not give us the exam that she had planned for that day. After school I went home. Fortunately no one was home, for I wanted be alone. Finally, after three hours of containing my emotions, I began to cry. I was still crying when my mother arrived home. She came into my room, put her arms around me, and said, “This is a sad day for our country”. Yes, November 22, 1963, was a sad day, a tragic day that was the beginning of a long, difficult period in American history
DustLonely (440 bài luận)