The day Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was killed, I was sitting in a classroom.  A teacher from another class came running into our classroom crying.  She said, “It’ s all over the tv!  They shot King!  Dr. King is dead!”  There was a group gasp.  Our little hearts stopped.  We weren’t sure what it all meant at the moment.  We didn’t know how this moment in history would impact the rest of our lives.  We just knew we had never seen such pain in an instant.  Such shock on so many faces.  Such stunned silence at what had been taken away from us, from our childhood dreams for our lives.  You see the day before Dr. King was shot I got on the back of the city bus to go to the doctor’s office with my Mom and sat in the Colored waiting room for a doctor’s appointment.  One day later who would know that the man who my parents spoke about giving us hope for a change in our southern circumstances would lay dead on a balcony.  Tears flowed then as they do now when I think of then.  But for a different reason.  This is a different moment in history.  If only he could see me now.  The dream for my life has far exceeded those I had for myself.  And I still practice some of the phrases he once preached: “We must do a good job, irrespective of race, and do it so well so that nobody can do it better”.  That’s what I remembered today as I dedicated myself to blogging.  Doing my job.  Doing a good job.