by Gwen M. Plano
1968 is often referred to as the “most turbulent” year of the century. The Vietnam War was at its peak, evoking confrontations between student protesters and police. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated and just a few months later, Senator Robert F. Kennedy was murdered. The young were disillusioned and angry, the old were lost in a world they did not understand. It was a very difficult time.
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.
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.
Fast forward fifty years and what has changed? Turmoil persists. Adversity and mistrust are rampant. Perhaps the biggest change I see is the internet. Now we don’t need to talk with neighbors or listen to speeches or pick up a newspaper. We can check our smartphones and find out what people think about any topic.
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?
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?
50 years ago in photos: A look back at 1968.
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