I’m a Stephen King … groupie? … hmm… maybe more of an acolyte. I was absorbed by the inventive re-take on JFK’s assassination in his imaginative novel 11/22/63.

With that as inspiration, today I’m gonna try out my own “Walter Mitty”-like fictional do-over of that fateful day from my then 6 year-old perspective.

Let’s transport ourselves back to Dallas, Texas some 60+ years ago… where a cavalcade of cars makes its way through busy downtown streets…

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The Texas sun beat down, turning my six-year-old self into a sweaty mess.

We were tourists in Dallas, visiting from Canada for Dad’s work. Today’s excitement crackled in the air – a parade for the President!

Mom hoisted me onto her shoulders, her familiar soapy scent a comforting anchor in the sea of popcorn and hotdog smells. “Look, Larry!” she said, pointing down the road. “There he is!” Shiny black cars crept by,

Everyone was yelling. Not angry yells, more like excited cheers. A long line of polished black cars was inching its way towards us, American flags flapping proudly like oversized butterflies. A band blared something upbeat, the melody swallowed by the roar of the crowd.

“Who’s there, Mommy?” I squinted, trying to see over the grown-ups’ heads.

“The President, honey! President Kennedy!“

President? I vaguely remembered grainy pictures of a handsome man with a funny haircut on our black and white TV news back home in Hamilton. This must be him.

As the first car in the cavalcade came closer, a man with a big smile stood up through the sunroof. People went even wilder, waving flags and homemade signs. I clapped my hands, feeling a thrill shoot through me. It was like a parade, only bigger, louder, and somehow more important.

Then came the open-topped limousine, a 1961 Lincoln Convertible.

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The day had thankfully turned from grey and rainy in the early morning to sunny and warm – almost 70ºF – as the clock ticked past noon. Had the clouds hung on, the bulletproof plexiglass bubble would have likely been placed over the heads of the President and First Lady to keep them dry, but definitely less visible to the cheering throngs who wanted a good view of their President and his Hollywood-stylish wife.

A handsome man in a suit waved from the back seat, a beautiful lady in a stunning raspberry-coloured dress and pillbox hat beside him. In the front, Texas Governor and Mrs. Connally sat turned in their seats, chatting with the President and Mrs. Kennedy and waving happily to the excited crowd.

As the car neared, a commotion erupted further down the street.

A rogue Frisbee, propelled by a mischievous gust of wind, soared high above the cheering crowd. Its bright red colour was a beacon against the blue sky, and it seemed destined to land smack in the middle of the President’s car!

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Panic surged through me. I couldn’t let a stupid Frisbee ruin this moment. With a mighty yell, I climbed free from Mom’s shoulders and sprinted towards the car, weaving through a maze of legs.

Just as the limousine reached our spot, the Frisbee dipped towards the opening where Mr. Kennedy and his wife sat. In a desperate attempt to catch it, I lunged forward, arms outstretched. My fingertips brushed the disc, sending it spinning wildly off course. It thudded harmlessly against a nearby motorcycle policeman’s helmet.

The crowd roared – not with fear, but with surprise at my daring feat. I beamed, momentarily forgetting the chaos I’d caused. Then, a deafening CRACK echoed from a nearby building. People screamed, scrambling for cover.

My heart hammered in my chest. I’d never heard a sound like that before in my short life. Mom ran out from the grassy knoll where we had been watching and scooped me up, her face pale.

Through the pandemonium, I saw chaos erupt in the limousine. Governor Connally slumped forward, a crimson stain blossoming on his suit.

Tears welled up in my eyes. It was all my fault. I’d caused the distraction, the perfect opportunity for some unseen monster to unleash their evil.

But as the dust settled, a different story emerged.

The authorities discovered a lone gunman hidden in the Texas School Book Depository. My Frisbee lunge, while impressive, had happened a split second before the shot. The bullet, aiming for the President in the back seat, flew wide, missing its intended target and striking Governor Connally instead.

The world went wild.

News reports hailed me as the “Frisbee Defender,” the six-year-old Canadian who, in a bizarre twist of fate, saved the President.

Accolades poured in – letters from world leaders, invitations to national talk shows, even a ticker-tape parade down Fifth Avenue in New York City. Back home, I became a national hero. My face adorned everything from cereal boxes to commemorative coins.

Though the initial guilt lingered, it was overshadowed by a profound sense of responsibility. The world saw me as a symbol of hope, a reminder that even the smallest act can have a monumental impact. It forever altered the course of my life.

Years later, the memory of Dealey Plaza remains vivid.

It’s a reminder that sometimes, even mistakes and coincidences can rewrite history.

And while I may not have been a superhero with superpowers, a well-timed lunge for a Frisbee, on that sunny day in Dallas, became my own little piece of extraordinary.

Now what can my 60+ year-old self do THIS November 2024 to save the world?