I was sitting in my 3rd grade class room at St
James School, when the announcement came over the loudspeaker.
Our president, our Jack, had been shot.
We prayed and then we left for the day.
We walked home in silence, greeted by my Aunt Rita, who was watching us for a few days. She was puzzled when she saw us and when we told her, she didn't want to believe.
Our Mom and Dad were in California, ironically in the very hotel where Bobby would be killed in a few years time.
Within a few years, the forces of evil took Jack, Martin and Bobby.
But they could not take their dreams.
Their dreams live in the hearts and actions of all those who believe in the dignity of all people, who believe that a person's worth is not measured by their color, or class, or religion, or social standing, but by their commitment to helping their fellow man.
Their words guide us.
"Ask what you can do"
"I have a dream"
"I see what is not and ask, why not?"
They paid the ultimate price for what they believed in, can there be a greater cause?
May be rededicate ourselves to this cause.
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