The Boy We Called John-John

He was our child, our little boy, flitting in and out of camera range around the White House when his dad was President. He did grow up and become that elegant New York City editor, John F. Kennedy Jr., the clan's flag bearer of what was good and glamorous. But I never could get over the memories around the White House.

The world, of course, remembered him as the three-year-old standing in front of his father's coffin after the services in St. Matthew's Cathedral in Washington and lifting his chubby arm in salute. He knew, but maybe he did not know....

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