She was a shy strawberry blonde four year old with the largest green eye I'd ever seen, I a cocoa brown five year old who put the "p" in precocious it was the spring of 1968 and from the first backward glance I knew we'd be friends. I'd sneak in front of her yard, stop long enough to giggle and she'd reciprocate. After an hour of the giggle game, her mother saw me standing at her front steps and swept her up as if she saw a rabid dog heading for her child. I was too young to understand what scared her but I was smart enough to figure it had to do with me. I got home to find my usually composed grandmother sobbing uncontrollably while watching the television. "Once again, Dr. Martin Luther King was mortally wounded today. . . " It had to mean dead from my grandmother's reaction and with the intensity of her tears I figured he was an relative, an uncle if you will, I drank in her sorrow and cried too. My parents arrived home and I knew he had to have been a long lost relative with the heaviness of the air in our newly purchased home. I asked who he was but no one seemed to be able to articulate who this dead man was but I could see a reverence for his life. I remember thinking “Uncle Dr. Martin Luther King died; my family’s upset so I am too and why didn’t he ever come to supper?” I knew this wasn't a good time to bring up the girl with the big green eyes. I remember it being chilly outside but for the next few days. I played on the steps of our house feeling lonely. We'd only lived in Peekskill, NY for five months and I hadn't made any friends in my kindergarten class. I had to find the green-eyed girl to take my mind off the sadness in the house. I snuck out of the yard and there she was. Her skiddish mother wasn't going to keep me from the mission. I spoke to her and as children will do when not influence by their parents, we hit it off. She was friendly, chatty and a fellow giggle puss. By the next day we were officially having fun, so much so, we chased each other from home to home. We boldly ran into my living room, which got my mother quiet upset. "Exit, stage left", I thought and as I turned to say something to my mom there was Dr. King's flag draped coffin, on the back of a mule drawn cart somberly gliding down the Pennsylvania Avenue-RIVETED...I was riveted. That was my first time making mental note of an event. My new friend tugged my hand taking me out of that moment but I never forgot it. Johanna and we spent many years sharing our childhood in our colorblind “Utopia” until a minor disagreement caused my mother to make a chilling prophecy . . .”One day your friendship will end because race will become and issue for one or both of you.” I looked at her with a nine-year-old skeptic’s eyes. My mom and I had the extensive conversation on race that lasted the rest of the afternoon. I had no idea she was preparing me for later battles. Fast forward fifteen years later and my mother’s words rang true when Johanna acted strange among my black friends. I saw something in her eyes that I never noticed before-Uneasiness. Her conversation went from the typical friend jabber to stereotyped laced speak that made me wonder exactly when the paradigm shifted? In the end, the unanswered question weren’t important and our parting was painful at least for me. Distance and maturity makes me look back at that friendship with fondness. The legacy of our friendship is my current circle of multi-racial loved ones who make my life whole. Thanks Dr. King . . .
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