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  •  yes, I was eight... (11+ / 0-)

    But i remember it because my mother took me out of school the day of the funeral -- i was in the 3rd grade.  My sisters didn't come, just me and my mother.  She drove us "downtown" (we lived in the suburbs, so it seemed far to me.  I know now it wasn't really 'downtown Atlanta', but that's what it felt like) and had me get out of the car and walk a very long way to a point where we could see the procession going by on the street some many yards away.  

    I have no idea where we were; it's a part of the city I'm not familiar with.  I have tried to go back and find the spot/the neighborhood, the corner where we stood up on a hill and watched, and have never been able to.  I remember that most of the faces were black and all of them were crying.  

    It was remarkably quiet for such a large crowd.  

    She said we were going to pay our respects and it was important for me to understand that this was an important man. On the way home she said, "you don't have to tell you father that we did this today".

    I never did.

    How's that for a mother-daughter outing?

    Words can sometimes, in moments of grace, attain the quality of deeds. --Elie Wiesel

    by a gilas girl on Tue Jan 15, 2013 at 07:59:13 PM PST

    [ Parent ]

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