November 22 is a significant day in my family. My grandfather and my brother were both born on that day. President John F. Kennedy also died that same date. Even though it was before my brother was born and well after my grandfather had died, it must feel strange for a nation of people to mourn on your birthday. At least that’s what I always thought.
A coworker’s father also shares November 22 as his birthday. He was 10 year’s old when President Kennedy was assassinated. It probably was his worst (if not most memorable) birthday. My brother, on the other hand, was born after the event. Today, one of his coworker’s asked him how he feels about having his birthday when the world is so focused on the 50th anniversary of Kennedy’s death. My brother said sharing this date could be the reason Kennedy has always been his favorite president, but the significance doesn’t bother him. To him it’s just his birthday. Since sometimes it lands on or close to Thanksgiving so his memories are mostly pleasant. It’s the beginning of holiday season, great temps and bright moons. Oh, and the fact that my parents got a great gift that day. He sees only good things about his birthday. The nation’s tragedy doesn’t affect him or sour his day.
Note: I personally believe my parents best gift arrived a little under two years later in a more girly package, but when do siblings ever agree?