Arkansas Blog

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
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I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
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I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

TAP, we're not there, yet, but thank God there's progress (and thank you for the picture and the story).

My story isn't as compelling as TAP's, but I'll share just the same.

I took my little boy to his first day of pre-K today. He's fairly outgoing and independent, and has a great little personality. We were all excited and so far we like the school, his teacher, and his room. I love that the population of his class is like a rainbow: white, black, asian, and latino were all represented.

I was prepared to stay all day if he needed me. Once we arrived and he saw all the other kids, he became rather quiet, almost detached at first, and was extra clingy. (Don't get me wrong ... I love that "Hold me, Daddy!" that, as of today, I still get from him. But I knew this was a critical time for him and wanted him to get into the swing of things.)

Another little boy had begun crying real tears when his mother temporarily left to go to the office. I went to the little fellow to see if I could comfort him. Dear son was with me and seemed sincerely concerned. We at least wanted to share friendly faces. The teacher has been at this for 20-some years and astulely came to the rescue. (His mom showed up shortly, anyway).

I know pre-K is more play than school, but it is still a monumental time in a kid's life (not to mention his dad's). I tore myself away around 9:00.

My wife called me around lunchtime. She happens to be a teacher in the classroom next to our son's. She said she saw him in the cafeteria line and when he saw her he lit up, got out of line just long enough to get a kiss from her, then he walked back to the line (hands behind his back, per their instructions) with a huge smile on his face. He's doing great.

Bless the teachers, aides, administrators, and all the support staff for the work they do in our public schools. I know they need parental volunteers and I intend to be involved. I urge others to do the same.

I went over to Parkviwe this morning to drop of some things for one of my teacher pals. 1st period was her prep and she was busy getting her room ready and working ahead a bit. From experience, I could tell she was excited and about to burst, she was so eager to meet the new students. She's always had the right idea that her job was to teach the children how to learn, not just what to learn.
Politically, she stands where she believes is right (and I don't necessarily agree with some of her positions): she knows merit pay is a pig in the poke; she thinks Roy Brooks cleaned out some of the dead wood in the district; she thinks some of the school board members are just plain stupid. Yet, when we came together today, none of that mattered to us. The excitement, joy and challenge of getting the school year off to a good start for all the students was foremost in our minds. In hippie terminology, I got a contact high just from being in the room with her!
More importantly than loving her job, she loves her students. She and thousands others just like her were waiting for those young children to help them to be bolder, better, braver and more benevolent citizens.
Forgive me if I just wipe these tears away for a moment. I do get blubbery as I recall similar moments in my life. Guess I'm just a sentimental old fool.

I and my kids had great teachers in the LRSD. I taught very briefly, my mother has a career there, my grandmother taught for 50 years. I feel sorry for the kids in the seggie academies-no other word for it. I am from here, I know it when i see it- who miss out on the great traditions and continuing excellence in the District. A pox on Brooks and the Board, the education is in the classroom.

hugh....try your best to remember today. Next time you look up you'll be waving at him driving off to his 3rd year of college....like I did today with my oldest girl. Man......how did that happen? How did the years fly away in a blink of an eye? My baby was picked up by a friend and they and another girl went to breakfast before she started her first day in high school. No babies at my house any more. Long time gone.

The only good thing about it is that kids are supposed to grow up. If they don't there's something wrong with them. And if you keep the right attitude it is a joy to watch them spread their wings and fly....even if you know they're flying away from you in an ever widening circle all the time. Another circle of life much more real than any Disney created. I really think, with a little luck, it all works out in the end and one lifetime is all you really need.

I keep coming back to the picture on this thread. 50 years ago right here in Arkansas A, this picture would have never been taken because no white girl would have dared walk across campus with a black guy, B, if such did happen the photographer taking the picture would have been beaten to a pulp and his camera and film ruined, C: someone would have shot both these kids dead as a door nail.

We haven't come far enough, but this picture proves we've made some ground. I'll admit I had to get used to my kids having friends of other colors and at the time I thought man...what kind of dinosaur are you? But I clearly remember the spot in the entry hall of the house I'm typing in at the moment, when in 1972 I lost all my senses and brought home a black guy in a group of other kids from church. We were having a lovely time acting crazy, when my father called me out into the entry for a little chat. With eyes blazing, he asked me where I got the idea I could just waltz a Negro into HIS house?

I remember thinking instantly......gee...where did I get the nerve to do such a thing? I knew how the land laid at my house. I knew my parents thought Negroes were an OK concept, but not as a friend and certainly not as a guest in your house. What on earth was I thinking? So I steered Nathan and the rest of the kids out of the house and across the street to church and everything was OK again.

Nathan grew up, discovered he was gay and died of AIDS in the early 90s. Sometimes when I have nothing better to think about I wonder how far my Dad would have been off the floor that day if he had realized Nathan was not only black but also gay. Ohmagod! RIP Nathan.

TAP, you and I must have been classmates in the first grade. I was in the same 1963 class with Mrs. Anthony. She was a great teacher and I remember her fondly. Reading your story brought a huge smile to my face.

Wow, scout. Ours is indeed a small world.

It's funny how much impact elementary school teachers have, and how well we remember them. After Ms. Anthony, I had Sue Bass, Ruby Pinkerton, Betty Page, Dolly Holt and Louise Jones. Did we have other classes together?

I had Ms. Bass and Ms. Pinkerton so two more classes together. But, after third grade, my parents decided to move and I had to leave my beloved Oakhurst. I loved that schoolyard. As I remember it was very rocky and had great places to play.

It is a pretty amazing way to run across an old classmate.