Husker Du?

In 1988 I worked on a book published to commemorate the 25th anniversary of John F. Kennedy's assassination. It consisted of a bunch of celebrities writing about what they were doing when they heard Kennedy was shot. John Travolta's contribution was hand-written. One of the submissions came in on a cocktail napkin.

It made me think back to that fateful day in 1963. I was five years old, in kindergarten. Our parents took turns driving the kids to and from school. It was Patty Sweeney's mom's turn to drive that day. She was grim-faced as we got into the car.

"Hurry up," she said. "The president's been shot." It was raining.

She took us all right back to her house because, let's face it, that was the best television programming anyone had ever seen. Patty and I played a game while her mom poured herself a little drink, weeping. Her husband was a doctor. They had a big Mediterranean console TV in the bedroom. She stripped down to her bra and panty-girdle and sat on the carpet, massaging her feet and weeping. It was an awkward sight.

Years later, I related this story to a friend and he said, "No wonder you're gay. You associate naked women with the shooting of the president."

Another friend of mine wasn't so lucky. Her father brought home a big block of feta cheese that day. Her sister told her it was a puppy. She's still confused.

Monday: Gay Civil War Reenactors!