I was a student at San Diego State University in 1968, and fifty years ago today my first child was born. I had married the year before, and the birth of my son followed ten months later. When nothing made sense, when everything that could go wrong went wrong, I had a precious baby to hold. He was my miracle, a concrete sign of hope during a time that appeared hope-less.
Tempers flare easily when we’re upset with impersonal entities: such as the Republicans or the Democrats, the Christians or the Muslims, the Blacks or the Whites. But, if fifty years have taught me anything, it is that truth is elusive.
During this time of extraordinary change, hold on to what is precious, find reasons for laughter, and know that this, too, will pass. Happy Birthday, dear son. Could it really be fifty years?