When Dr. King died, I was still in diapers. Ford’s new muscle car, the Mustang, was brand new but the civil rights struggle was not.
I imagine that my parents and paternal grandmother, who played a huge role in my early development, tried to keep the turmoil of the times away from me as a toddled around the bare wood floors of that old clapboard house in Cherry, North Carolina.
But I think some things filtered in and became part of my virtual racial DNA, that part of me that needs to know about the whats, whens, and whys of the racial struggles of those times. That part that needs to make connections and reconcile (or at least, placate my conscience that we believers are striving for answers).
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