I remember April 4, 1968, the day Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was killed. I still hold distinct images of my mother and grandmother sobbing once they heard the news and I remember the black-and-white images broadcast during the special reports the following day.
I’d like to think that those of us too young to actually remember the assassination of Dr. King are lucky. In my deepest optimism, I hope that America’s younger generations will never experience the ravaging heart pain of an assassination, especially one prompted by racist motives. …