Growing Up In the Sixties

As a young teen I sadly confess, I dreamt of becoming an actress. A class assignment drew me to Warner's in D.C., where I brushed up against black history.. I stumbled into a meeting of the NAACP. The people welcomed one out of touch, this young white girl who had way too much.. Months later, although mom's words were harsh my dad and I went to the Poor Peoples March. I was amazed to see thousands there, those pop up tents from every where. I drove by with peripheral vision, those fleeting glimpses of how others were living.. Early years passed and I matured some how, remaining oblivious to "black power". I graduated from high school and was freed from mom and watched as several of my class mates went straight to Viet Nam.. I never went to Woodstock nor protested the war, too caught up in my story to care about the poor.. I moved from sheltered Silver Spring to New York City and had my own adventures there, some not very pretty.. I indulged in a little "huffing and puffing". My hands were in a wheat film buttering an English muffin.. Impulsiveness and hormones got the best of me so at a young age I began my family.. Many moons later while finishing my degree I learned so much more about Black history. As a minority student at Bowie State I had a teacher, Dr. Kondo and he was truly great. He had just consulted for the film Malcolm X and filled me in on all those voids not written in the texts. The greatest of gifts that one can bestow is to take off those blind folds and help some one grow.