Hello, dear blog friends.
What a week, right?! Given the tragic events, I suspect all of us are heavy-hearted, and though I wish I could make it all better, I'm not a miracle worker. None of us are. So today I'll share a memory and a poem that takes us back in time.
Yvette Calleiro took the lead for this week's Tanka Tuesday prompt and invited folks to write a syllabic poem about a particularly impactful day. There have been a number of memorable events in my life, but I've chosen to write about one that was life-changing.
In November of 1963, I sat in a high school math class waiting for the teacher to arrive. He was usually very prompt, but not that day. Tommy sat in front of me and abruptly turned around and said, "Did you hear? President Kennedy is dead. Someone shot him!" He rattled on, but I don't remember what he said, as I was in shock. I got up and walked out of the class. Somehow, I ended up in the counselor's office. I don't know how I got there, but a short time after this, my mom arrived and took me home.
I knew very little about politics as a teenager, but I greatly admired JFK's work with Civil Rights. I couldn't fathom that he may have lost his life for standing firmly on the Constitutional principle that "All men are created equal."
I grew up in the Imperial Valley, the southernmost tip of California, where more than 90% of the population was and is Hispanic. As a child, I longed to be brown-skinned with dark hair, like my friends. Instead, I was white with freckles and red hair. I never thought of my friends as less than me. In fact, I never thought of anyone as less than me.
When President Kennedy was assassinated, my world turned upside down. That fatal bullet awakened me to the nasty world of politics.
Given the recent assassination, I realize that not much has changed since the 1960s. People (and countries) still settle their disagreements through violence, and that is a crushing realization. These days, I listen, say little, and try to love my neighbor, no matter who he or she might be. As my mom used to say, "there are two sides to every story," and finally, I think I understand what she meant.
Here's my simple poem:
What a week, right?! Given the tragic events, I suspect all of us are heavy-hearted, and though I wish I could make it all better, I'm not a miracle worker. None of us are. So today I'll share a memory and a poem that takes us back in time.
Yvette Calleiro took the lead for this week's Tanka Tuesday prompt and invited folks to write a syllabic poem about a particularly impactful day. There have been a number of memorable events in my life, but I've chosen to write about one that was life-changing.
In November of 1963, I sat in a high school math class waiting for the teacher to arrive. He was usually very prompt, but not that day. Tommy sat in front of me and abruptly turned around and said, "Did you hear? President Kennedy is dead. Someone shot him!" He rattled on, but I don't remember what he said, as I was in shock. I got up and walked out of the class. Somehow, I ended up in the counselor's office. I don't know how I got there, but a short time after this, my mom arrived and took me home.
I knew very little about politics as a teenager, but I greatly admired JFK's work with Civil Rights. I couldn't fathom that he may have lost his life for standing firmly on the Constitutional principle that "All men are created equal."
I grew up in the Imperial Valley, the southernmost tip of California, where more than 90% of the population was and is Hispanic. As a child, I longed to be brown-skinned with dark hair, like my friends. Instead, I was white with freckles and red hair. I never thought of my friends as less than me. In fact, I never thought of anyone as less than me.
When President Kennedy was assassinated, my world turned upside down. That fatal bullet awakened me to the nasty world of politics.
Given the recent assassination, I realize that not much has changed since the 1960s. People (and countries) still settle their disagreements through violence, and that is a crushing realization. These days, I listen, say little, and try to love my neighbor, no matter who he or she might be. As my mom used to say, "there are two sides to every story," and finally, I think I understand what she meant.
Here's my simple poem:
I hope our collective week is one of healing. I also hope that you realize how what a gift you are. We may have never met, but through blogs, books, and personal shares, we've developed a friendship, and I'm ever so grateful to know you. May this week be one of blessings on you and yours! ❤️
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