J.F.K.

It’s a bit of irony that some of us seem to have difficulty remembering what we ate for breakfast and yet there are monumental events that we recollect with total clarity – even if it was 50 years ago.

I remember the exact moment I learned that President John F. Kennedy was dead, killed by an assassin’s bullet in Texas.

I was walking home from school along the Bronx streets where I lived. I was nine years old and in fifth grade. The faculty at my grade school never treated us like adults and apparently believed that any “difficult words” needed to come from our parents so even though it was obvious that some of the teachers were upset, the students weren't told anything.

I noticed small clusters of people talking in whispers, some crying, during my three block walk and I had no idea why. In front of a building just a few doors from where I lived I saw the woman whose children my sister babysat; she was very upset.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

She blurted out, “The president is dead. He was shot.” And she cried.

In my sheltered child’s mind I couldn't comprehend the magnitude of her statement. My first thoughts were, I’m embarrassed to admit, about my school class president and I had just seen him.

“No he’s not.” I was terribly confused as I answered her.

She yelled at me out of upset. “President Kennedy is dead!”

I stood there in shock as she ran away from me after sighting her children.

I don’t know how many thoughts ran through my mind as I ran the rest of the way home and up three flights of stairs. How could President Kennedy be dead? He was our American President, he had people protecting him. He couldn't die, who would take care of our country? What was going to happen now?

My mom was waiting in the doorway as I reached the landing. She saw my face and knew that I had heard the news and she held me and told me what had transpired in Dallas. I didn't want to believe it but she told me that it was true. And I cried.

I knew my sister was going to be upset when she got home from school, I knew that she would know. In high school the teachers tell you these things. And while I sat and waited for my sister so that we could console each other, and while I watched the news reports on the black and white TV in the living room, I just remembered…

I remembered a day a few years earlier when my sister told me that our next American President was campaigning a few blocks away. She had volunteered to hand out signs and she took me with her to see that great man in person. And we both shook his hand and I remember him being so nice when he asked my name.

The world was supposed to be a safe place. I grew up believing that my dad could fix anything that broke and my mom could make anyone feel better. That day the world changed. 
Yes, I had heard folks talk of important events that had taken place before… I had heard about WW2, the concentration camps, Pearl Harbor, the Depression and other frightening calamities. My parents even told me how they got married the day that FDR died.

To a young child it was just words. Now the nation was in mourning, it was something that I saw and I heard for myself.

November 22, 1963 was the end of innocence.

I have a dream

It was nearly fifty years ago when the Reverend Martin Luther King gave the famous and powerful “I have a dream” speech. In so many ways, this is a very different world we live in today and yet we still have so much further to go.

1963 was a year of violence and tears, dreams and hope. It was a year when civil rights protesters met with brutality from police and soldiers acting on orders of their superiors. Martin Luther King, jailed in Birmingham, Ala. wrote the significant "Letter from Birmingham Jail" and argued that there is a moral duty to disobey unjust laws. Later that same year he told a crowd of a quarter million blacks and whites the enduring words, “I have a dream”.

“In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.”

Dr King preached civil disobedience when necessary, but he also preached non-violence. Even if WE are not the instigators and WE do not personally strip the rights of our fellow human beings away, if we sit still and voiceless as we allow this to happen, then we are just as guilty. He saw a world where all men and women would be equal and respectful of one another.

“I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.”

There are many who have suffered, in the past and even today. Non-whites, women, and homosexuals have to fight every day for equal rights. There are many ways where suffering has to be endured, unequal pay, lost job opportunities, forbidden loves, cold shoulders, exclusion, suspicion, and more.

“I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."”

Advancements and victories occurred through the years; there has always been room for more. In the 21^st-century the American people have seen remarkable changes. Affirmative action has become an effective tool to ensure diverse pools of talent. Equal pay for equal work is a promise with action available when it isn't followed. America saw the election (and re-election) of its first Black president. “Don’t ask, don’t tell” was repealed allowing gays in the military to serve openly and proudly. More and more states are passing legal same-sex marriages. There will always be more to do, but our country is honoring human rights for all more and more everyday.

“And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"”

Hyphema: Bleeding in the eye caused by trauma…

 Matt Garratti, a paramedic from New York, moves his wife and son to North Carolina to work at his dream job as a flight medic. Pakistani born Sudah, his wife, receives frosty stares and insensitive comments from their new neighbors... Matt wonders if he is pursuing his dream or bringing his family into a nightmare from which they may never wake.