Ten years later (or The Procession of Silly Hats)
Writing by treason on Friday, 31 of August , 2007 at 9:45 pm
benchmark:
1. a measurement or standard that serves as a point of reference
2. a standard by which others may be compared, measured, or judged
Why do we take events in history and make them our personal benchmarks? Do you ever wonder if cavemen asked each other: “Say, where were you when Og created fire?” I’m trying to think of the standard questions during my lifetime and, off the top of my head, they are:
Where were you when Kennedy was shot?
Technically, Chicago. What I remember was watching the funeral on a black and white TV and my mother crying. (This led my sister to forever wonder if my mother had lied when she said she voted for Nixon.)
Where were you when The Beatles were on The Ed Sullivan Show?
I was still four years old and sitting in front of, again, a black and white TV.
Where were you when Apollo 11 landed on the moon?
I was nine and watching, finally, on a color TV because we had begged my mother to buy a new set just so we could watch the ’69 Cubs in color. I recall drinking a lot of Tang and eating a lot of Space Food Sticks.
Where were you when you heard Elvis had died?
I was 17, sitting on a university campus talking to someone during freshman orientation, and a person walked up and announced the news. I’d always liked Elvis, but was really too young to have experienced the initial craze. I was more a part of the British Invasion, so it always amazed me that my elementary school friend, who was five or six, was such an Elvis fanatic. I didn’t appreciate Elvis fully until 1972. Before Burning Love had even hit the charts, I had a vivid dream about the man that made me look at him in an entirely different way. The anniversary of his death serves as a reminder that I started college 30 years ago… which makes me a relic.
Where were you when you heard John Lennon had been shot?
I was sitting on a bed, sketching bones and muscles for a Drawing course, and had the news on.
Where were you when you heard Princess Diana had been in a car accident?
I’d just come home and T mentioned she’d been in a car wreck, making it sound like it had been a minor fender bender. Details were muddled, stories conflicted, and soon I was suspicious. I stayed up through the night until I got confirmation of her death.
This seemed to me to be the turning point. I remember watching the funeral because I really liked the sound of those bells. And I watched the Pope’s funeral because I liked hearing the Litany of the Saints. Again, I’m not a Catholic but I come from a long line of them, so any time I have an opportunity to hear Latin I’m all over it.
I remember T in the other room, pleading: “Make it stop! Please, just make it stop!”
Finally he sat down and asked me why I was watching the coverage and why I pay such close attention to televised funerals.
“I mean, who cares? You don’t know this person. You’ve never met. This person is not a relative. How does this affect your life in any way?”
I explained that there’s historical significance and I look at it as a study of our culture. I will tune into the news, I will watch, but I don’t see myself ever tying a stuffed toy to a chain link fence with ribbon and attaching a personal note. That’s a behavior I still haven’t been able to sort out. If this is some new cultural thing I’d like to know where it came from.
What’s odd is that there are questions I don’t hear. No one ever asks: Where were you when the Berlin Wall came down? Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever been asked: Where were you on September 11, 2001?
Today I tuned in for the hats.
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