More stories from 10th Street

Most people my age or older remember where they were when Kennedy was shot.  I was in the 3rd grade and I don't remember where I was-probably at school.  I did not understand any of it.  We stayed home from school and watched the funeral on our TV but I don't remember being sad or shocked or mad or any feeling about it.  Same with Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy.  The riots in other places did not effect me.  I lived in a small Iowa town with only white Christian people.  I was 16 or 17 before I ever saw a black person. In church we sang "Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world.  Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight.  Jesus loves the little children of the world."  I believed every word of that and assumed my family, friends, neighbors, classmates and fellow Iowans all believed it too. 

 My first memory of feeling sad or outraged about the unrest, the war, the state of the country was when the music hit me.  "Has anybody here seen my old friend Bobby?  Can you tell me where he's gone?  I thought I saw him out walking over the hill with Abraham, Martin and John."  Now when I hear some of the political songs from the 60's it fills me with sadness.  My childhood until the age of 11 was a time of innocence and isolation from the real world.  My teen years were full of drama and personal traumas which left me no time for world affairs.  I have many stories to tell but I am not sure which ones I will have the courage to record here.  I know there will be gaps because some secrets are not mine to tell.