Remembering Lennon
Where were you when you heard John Lennon was dead?
I was thirteen, dozing during the Monday Night Football game I was watching on the five inch black and white 'portable' TV my parents let me watch in my room. I can't tell you who was playing (it might've been the Packers) but I woke in time to hear Howard Cosell mention that reports were coming in that John had been shot outside his apartment building and that he was being rushed to hospital.
Somehow, I went back to sleep.
The next morning, I told my mom that I thought I'd heard something about John being shot. "He died," she told me back. "Some crazy person shot him." She'd been watching the news overnight, and we turned on CBS to see their coverage. I was depressed, as I'd only seen Beatlemania the October before (with Marshall Crenshaw as John, I think, before he was Marshall Crenshaw) and I thought the world of John. I believed his songs were the best of the Beatles, and I mourned for a man I never met, but felt as if I'd known intimately through his work and his interviews.
I went upstairs and put my Beatlemania shirt on to go to seventh grade. At school, I was one of three people who were mourning John. The other two were happy to see they weren't alone in their grief, (remember this is seventh grade and we're all hormones and emotions without filters or controls) and we all commiserated a bit about his work, sharing our favorites. My other friends couldn't understand why I was so affected by the death of a pop star, and I couldn't really explain.
I still miss John and sometimes wonder what his music would sound like now, if he'd survived this. Sometimes I feel like he died at the right time: young and at the peak of a comeback.
For Christmas, I gave my mom a copy of Double Fantasy and she played it alot,while I followed the killer's trial in the Topeka and Lawrence papers.
I try to remember John as often as I can, not just on his birthday or on the anniversary of his death. I sing along with his songs and try to live my life with the love he felt for everyone. I sought and found a love like he had for Yoko after many fruitless tries. I emulated him when I wrote songs, when I wrote lyrics, trying to play with words to lesser success than his, obviously, but with joy in the trying. He has been an influence, and I miss him.
I was thirteen, dozing during the Monday Night Football game I was watching on the five inch black and white 'portable' TV my parents let me watch in my room. I can't tell you who was playing (it might've been the Packers) but I woke in time to hear Howard Cosell mention that reports were coming in that John had been shot outside his apartment building and that he was being rushed to hospital.
Somehow, I went back to sleep.
The next morning, I told my mom that I thought I'd heard something about John being shot. "He died," she told me back. "Some crazy person shot him." She'd been watching the news overnight, and we turned on CBS to see their coverage. I was depressed, as I'd only seen Beatlemania the October before (with Marshall Crenshaw as John, I think, before he was Marshall Crenshaw) and I thought the world of John. I believed his songs were the best of the Beatles, and I mourned for a man I never met, but felt as if I'd known intimately through his work and his interviews.
I went upstairs and put my Beatlemania shirt on to go to seventh grade. At school, I was one of three people who were mourning John. The other two were happy to see they weren't alone in their grief, (remember this is seventh grade and we're all hormones and emotions without filters or controls) and we all commiserated a bit about his work, sharing our favorites. My other friends couldn't understand why I was so affected by the death of a pop star, and I couldn't really explain.
I still miss John and sometimes wonder what his music would sound like now, if he'd survived this. Sometimes I feel like he died at the right time: young and at the peak of a comeback.
For Christmas, I gave my mom a copy of Double Fantasy and she played it alot,while I followed the killer's trial in the Topeka and Lawrence papers.
I try to remember John as often as I can, not just on his birthday or on the anniversary of his death. I sing along with his songs and try to live my life with the love he felt for everyone. I sought and found a love like he had for Yoko after many fruitless tries. I emulated him when I wrote songs, when I wrote lyrics, trying to play with words to lesser success than his, obviously, but with joy in the trying. He has been an influence, and I miss him.