Twenty nine years ago, Jenny was pregnant and had gone to bed early. I stayed up, watching TV.
Then a man came on and said John Lennon had been shot and killed.
A month later I would be a father. My life would change forever, catapulted into responsible adulthood, ready or not.
But that night it felt like my youth, or what was left of it at age 30, was gunned down on that New York City sidewalk with John Lennon.
It's a sad anniversary.