Monday, 10 December 2012
Day of Infamy
By Joanne Zimmermann
December 7, 1941, found me walking to the drug store with my dad. It was snowing. We usually walked there, just a two block stroll.
Sometimes I got ice cream. The owner’s was named Elmer, a one man stand. He was pharmacist, soda jerk and confidante. Those twisted wire stools with little round tables still stand in my childhood memory bank.
As we rounded the corner I remember my dad explaining what happened. Of course we only had just heard about it on the radio. No graphic pictures were possible in those days; just as well. Only words, trying to describe what happened to inform the American public of such a dreadful thing.
I was eight, nearly nine. I think it was the dawning of reality for me. As a child you look up to adults, at least most of them in your little sphere. How could grown-ups act so childish, so stupid, and so horrible? There was simply no explanation.
A realization that the world was not as friendly a place as I had thought came upon me. What was going to happen?
Our simple little snowy corner of my world suddenly opened up to dangerous possibilities. My childhood was over, as I had known it.
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