April 4th, 1968, I had just turned five years old. I don’t remember much about the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., except my mother was worried about my father who was at work, and there was rioting in Washington, D.C.
Throughout school years, we learned about Civil Rights and the sacrifices that Dr. King and so many others had made. It didn’t seem real then– and still doesn’t– the differences race played in every facet of life.
So today, as my children play with kids in the neighborhood of all races without even thinking about it, as I go to the gym and see a rainbow of shades of exercisers, as I travel throughout my day feeling entitled to have access to every bus, school, store, and lunch counter, I humbly say, thank you.
