Eleven years old, school just out, waking up in my sister's room on an early summer morning, thinking about the lazy days lying ahead. I hear my sister crying and then the door opens and my mom comes in to tell me that Bobby Kennedy has been shot. What a terrible loss. It's a rare person who brings to public office the gift of true generosity and compassion. The sixties were frightening years and too often tragic. War, environmental destruction, riots, assassinations, chaos: terrifying. I am too quick to forget that when I take a nostalgic look back at the countercultural movements. Remembering Bobby Kennedy gets me to thinking how things might have been. Such a loss.