When I was a kid in the sixties, my folks (my dad, specifically) was a civil rights activist. My best friend was Reggie Mims, a black kid, and our families hung together a lot. When I drove to Florida from Massachusetts with my grandparents, my dad stuffed a biography of Martin Luther King in my travel pack, and I read it the whole way.

My parents, my dad, taught me well. He raised me not to fear others just because they're different. He taught me to help people who need help, fight people who are trying to fuck you over.

My dad died in 1977. And today, finally, I got to cast the vote he never could.

Love ya, Dad! Thanks.



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