1968. A year of loss and hope for me.
One of my losses was my marriage which, after years of rough waters, sunk like the Titanic, unsaveable, destined for a rocky shore.
But one thing I had going for me in my depression was the love of the beautiful young people in my sixth grade class, the fun I had learning with them: writing poetry and prose with them; giving life to characters and situations in social studies with them; playing with numbers in a variety of ways, questioning current events everyday…
Did those young people ever keep alive what little hope I had for anything. They inspired me to “Keep the Faith,” to resist the madness in the war in Vietnam, to forever be “Black and Proud!” and willing to say it out loud.
But sometimes, that year, my personal life would just be too much to bear.
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