Like all kids of our generation, we knew about atom bombs. We were practically experts on them. In school we watched black and white films of mushroom clouds and nuclear winds and pictures of smiling adults walking quickly and in an orderly fashion to fallout shelters. We had been religiously schooled in bomb drills, climbing under atom-bomb-resistant desks with our hands laced securely over the back of our necks. There were bomb shelters in every neighborhood. The possibility of a nuclear holocaust was just something we carried around in the back of our minds, like an overdue library book.

In a bizarre way, we thought atom bombs were kind of cool. They were a gift of modern technology, like color TV and frost-free refrigerators, and in those days anything modern was good. Even if it could kill you.

People would even drive to the Nevada desert to watch the underground bomb tests and would joke about who was the most radioactive. Looking back, we were just nuts. We were like toddlers playing with a grenade. I’m amazed civilization survived.

As my father spoke, Joel’s eyes grew wider and wider. Even he had seen pictures of explosions from atom bombs. He’d even seen films of hydrogen bomb explosions like the one at Bikini Island, which, by contrast, made the atom bomb look like a firecracker.

“We’re going to have a family prayer, then I want you to go to bed,” my dad said.

“Can I sleep with you?” Joel asked my mother.

“Of course.” She looked at me. “Eric?”

“I’m okay,” I said.

We knelt down and prayed. Afterward my mother reminded us to brush our teeth, which, under the circumstances, seemed absurd but, in a way, hopeful. We hugged, then I brushed my teeth and went to my room alone. I turned off the light and crawled in bed waiting for my parents to go to bed so I could tell Grace. My mother came in and sat on the side of my bed. “Are you afraid?”

“Yeah, a little.”

She leaned over and kissed me. “President Kennedy will take care of us,” she said. “He has children too.”

As soon as my mother left and I heard her door shut I went to the bedroom window and climbed out. I ran to the clubhouse and knocked on the wall. “Grace.”

She turned on the light as I climbed in.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s really bad,” I said. “President Kennedy said on TV that the Russians have atom bombs in Cuba. There might be a nuclear war.”

She stared at me. “Is that for real?”