When I was still teaching school, I used to give a 3rd grader a ride home most every day. I would wait in the driveway until he unlocked his front door, checked the house and back door and came out on the porch to wave that the house was safe. I then waited until he closed the door and waved through the window that he had, indeed, remembered to re-locked the front door.
That little boy grew up to be the young man on the left in the red cap.
He calls me Uncle Ralph.
Some days his mother gave him permission for his best friend to go home with him, so I gave him a ride also. I was so very proud of him to be able to cross the race barrier at such a young age; especially in the deep south, and they have remained friends since. I am still proud of him and he is one of my most cherished friends.
Recently that friend, a beautiful, strong, smart, proud African-American, committed suicide. Words can not express the emotions I am experiencing.
I just don't understand.
1 comment:
I'm sorry for that tragic part of your story. I remember suicides during my working years, but they were people I didn't know at all. It is something hard to understand.
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