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My first execution? Oh, that's an easy one. March 5, 2003. It was my ninth birthday. I remember... I remember that was the year that the old Cyberboy cartoon started, and I was in love with it -- had Cyberboy pajamas, if you can believe that. So my mom made me this cake with little generic robots on it and you could eat them, you could bite the head off one of the robots and it was solidified icing, it would hurt your teeth as you crunched on it.

What did I get? God, I don't even know anymore. Some Cyberboy thing, I'm sure... oh wait, that's the year I got the Cyberboy video game! Oh God, I played that stupid game so much, I wore the letters off the side of it. Hmm. It's funny to think of that now. It's so crude compared to what the kids have at their disposal today. But at the time... God... there was literally nothing else like it. It was... magical. That whole day was magical.

I didn't have a party that year, I remember that, but for the life of me, I don't know why. Maybe because my dad knew he was going to take me to the execution. You know, I never really thought about that before. I've always held it in my mind that it was a spontaneous event... but I guess Dad had to know about it, had planned the whole thing. Hmm. I guess that's why I didn't have the party. Hmm.

Anyway, Dad put me in the car at some point, I know that, and I said, "Where are we going?" and he said, "I want to take you to see something," and I remember this next exchange very well, I'll always remember it. My mom said, "Robert, maybe it can wait 'til next year," and I knew something was up, because Mom only called my Dad 'Robert' when she was really angry. And Dad said, "He's old enough. It's time that he sees how this country works now. The sooner he sees it, the better." And he slammed the car door, and we were off.

Oh yeah, I knew exactly what we were doing once I saw where we were heading. That's where all the executions were held, and you know, I was young but I wasn't stupid, I'd heard there was going to be one today. What? Oh no, oh hell no, I never snuck into one before that day. My friends always tried to get me to, but my Dad... god, he'd pretty much told me a couple years back when they started that he'd have no problem with beating me until I had to go to the hospital if he ever found out I'd went to one. And whoo boy, I believed him. Well, you don't know my dad.

So anyway we got there and went into the plaza and it was crowded. We jostled around a bit until we found a spot I could see from. I was in a spot, I remember this, I was in this spot where the big Picasso sculpture kinda blocked my view a little bit. The irony's not lost on me now, of course, but when I was nine, you know, it was just like, "Can't we move to the side a little bit?"

Who was he? Oh, hell if I know. Some fucking oilhead. They all were back then. Convicted of... how did they used to put it? We used to taunt each other on the playground with the charges they always used. Oh yes, 'attempting to commit an act of terrorism against the United States.' You know, it's funny when people find out my age and learn that I lived through that period. They always want to know about what it was like, the riots and the paranoia and all the shit that went down then. But, you know, for God's sake, I was nine and I lived in Schaumberg. I didn't know riots. I knew Cyberboy and playing with my friends in the park and my dad cursing at the TV a lot. That's all I know.

So they had this oilhead up on the scaffolds and they asked him if he had any last words and he started shouting this Arabic bullshit as loud as he could, and the crowd's getting really angry and then these drunk guys up in front start chucking beer cans at him... oh, hell yeah people were drinking there. For some people it was like a big party. They'd bring coolers full of beer and stake out a good spot early in the morning and just sit there all day getting drunk and hooting and hollering and singing songs. You don't see that in the history books, do you?

So they pulled the lever and he dropped. I know, you'd think it would be this big traumatic event in my life, seeing a guy killed right in front of me. What can I say? He was like... you know, way over there, like a little spot, and the crowd just erupted when it happened, just erupted into cheers and applause, and that kept me a lot more interested than that tiny scaffolding so far away.

My dad leaned into me and he said... this is something else I'll never forget... he said, "This country used to not be this way." He put his big, warm hand on my shoulder and said, "REMEMBER THAT. America doesn't have to be this way. Kansas City changed everything, but it doesn't have to stay this way."

You know, sometimes I try to think about what it would be like to live in an age where if you said "Kansas City," the only thing people would think of is the city. Think about that. It's like... Woodstock, you know. Think about an age where if you said "Woodstock" the only thing it referred to was a sleepy little town in upstate New York. I mean, now it invokes an entire incident, I mean, invokes an entire generation by now. And Kansas City invokes an entire generation now, or even, an entire turning point in American history. I don't know, it's just something I think about sometimes.

But here's the thing I never told my dad. I mean, I knew he was very angry about the things that happened in the country then, like a lot of people were. I'd never tell you this if my dad was still alive, 'cause he'd die, he'd just die if he heard this. But that moment, that moment that the crowd burst into applause, I never felt prouder to be an American than that moment. Probably never have since then, either. I just... God, how do I express it right? I was just, in that nine-year old mentality, you know, I was just so happy and proud that I lived in a country that could stand up in front of the rest of the world and shake their fists in the air and yell, "We're not going to put up with your bullshit anymore!" It was exhilarating. It was a rush. I was just so fucking proud to be an American that day. Well, I don't know how to explain it better than that. I know it's an old cliché, but it's true, it's so very true -- Kansas City changed everything.