When President Kennedy was assassinated, I was 12. A few things stand out in my memory about that day almost 40 years ago. When I assembled with the rest of my class in my Nichols School homeroom to hear the announcement, my favorite teacher, Mrs. Turbov, was crying. It was the first time I'd ever seen a teacher, or any grownup, cry. It scared me more than the news.

Tears of a teacher, while the most immediate, obviously weren't the only effects of that day. That day, I, like many Americans, especially those who hadn't lived through a World War, lost my innocence.

If a president could die and adults could cry, then anything could happen. The world wasn't a safe place anymore. Nightmares weren't as scary as what could happen in real life.

Maybe every kid has a moment when that happens. Maybe I was lucky. Maybe for some, it happens much earlier.

I don't have kids, but I do have a nephew and a niece. My niece is 13. She was on a train that Tuesday morning, on a class field trip from Boston to Philadelphia. She was going to see the history, to visit Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell.

Instead, she saw history in the making. The train couldn't get through to Philadelphia. It was halted in New York City, on the tracks just outside of Penn Station. My niece watched the smoke and flames out the train window.

Here in Evanston, so far from the wreckage, it's hard to fathom. I notice a few things. The skies seem quieter. Fewer airplanes seem to be making that long turn over the lake. The streets seem noisier. I hear more sirens on Ridge, or maybe I'm just more conscious of them. For sure, there are more American flags out than on the fourth of July.

I remember flags being at half-mast when President Kennedy died. I remember how the images played like movies in my head for weeks afterward: the motorcade, Jackie and John-John, the single horse walking to the cemetery.

I can only imagine what images are playing in my niece's head. I know she sees the world in a different way now.

I haven't asked her, but I bet her teacher cried.