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(The First in a Series of Incidents that Came to Shape a Life)
Fifty years ago, I thought exactly that way. I grew up in a home where words like nigger and spick, kike and Heb were used. Not often and enough. Every time I heard the words, I cringed. I didn’t know exactly why and I knew nothing was innately true about an entire group of people. I knew those words were wrong.
There weren’t any people of color in Simsbury, Connecticut that I remember from 1952 until 1960. It may be that there were people of color and I had never seen them; it might be that in those days I could not have seen them under any conditions. Often, I was dropped at the YMCA in Hartford for a Saturday morning because both my parents worked. There were kids of color in the pool were we swam and I remember thinking, well one thing is for sure, the color doesn’t come off. At least not that I could tell. I didn’t tell my parents because I figured there were probably lots of places not nearly as much fun as the “Y” I might end up. Continue Reading →
Life is not holding a good hand; Life is playing a poor hand well. – Danish proverb
Imagine you were born into poverty in a third world country.
Is what you are planning to do today likely to be of any use to that person?
Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. It allows us to give thanks for the miracle of life and those whose lives touch ours.
I wonder what might happen, what we might create, if we spent the day after Thanksgiving looking to see how we could be of greater use?
