What happened to real news reporting?
When I was a kid I didn’t want news. When dad would come home and switch off my beloved fake family, The Brady Bunch, to turn on scenes of carnage with the daily body count from the Vietnam war, I groaned, complained and left the room. I didn’t want to know about horrible things. News broke my heart and worried me. I didn’t understand it. My earliest recollection of the news contains scenes of President Kennedy being shot, adults around me crying, little Caroline and Teddy standing at the big box with the flag draped over it.
I’m not a kid anymore (haven’t been for quite some time now). Read the rest of this entry