In 1963, I was eleven years old. I don't recall the JFK assassination being reported in school that day. I remember getting home from school to find the TV on and my mother in front of it, watching the breaking reportage.
At eleven years old, I'd like to think I was old enough to feel shock, grief, anxiety, or uncertainty abut what the future might bring.
No such luck, folks. The major feeling I remember from those days of non-stop television coverage was on Saturday morning, when my Saturday morning cartoons weren't broadcast. I was shocked. I was outraged.
At eleven, I should have been at least starting to get a sense of belonging to the outside world. I should have paid at least some attention to more than comics and television and (occasionally) school.
But my priorities then weren't what I now wish they'd been. I was a self-centered little git. I pay more attention to government and politics now. (Though I must admit that sometimes I feel it's more from a sense of self-defense than actual interest).