Six years old, in Mrs. Reeds 1st grade class. Announcement made on the loudspeaker, teachers started crying, after a time they sent us all home. My older brother (9 years old, in 4th grade at the same school) walked me and our little sister (5 years old, in kindergarten) to the house of family friends who lived a block from the school so we'd have adult supervision until mom could get home from the advertising agency where she worked.
I've talked to my brother about that day. It's remarkable how different our memories of it are. Of course, that applies to a lot of things that happened during our childhood, whether it was the Kennedy assassination, Armstrong walking on the moon or Woodstock and Vietnam.