I was a 15-year-old Western Washington high school student when Kurt Cobain died. I heard the news in Computer Applications class, where I was learning the ins and outs of Word Perfect. I remember being upset, or maybe confused is the better word, but I wasn’t devastated. And most of my classmates appeared to be affected, but not devastated. I remember one girl crying inconsolably, and I felt bad for her, but minus a small handful of kids who skipped afternoon classes for an impromptu memorial (I wasn’t one of them), life resumed, and it seemed to resume pretty quickly. Read More What a Difference Twenty Years Makes: Putting Kurt Cobain to Rest