Every time I both celebrate and mourn my 8-year-old's passing from one stage and entry into another, I thank my lucky stars that I have another daughter, Cybele, almost seven years her junior.
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One day your 4-year-old will be throwing the most massive public tantrum and you'll be staring into you cuddly baby's eyes thinking, what's so bad about this? When he's up again to nurse at 4 a.m., you'll think the opposite.
As another birth year comes to a close and a new one stands poised to begin, I find myself pondering our cultural ideas about birthdays and the very nature of age.
Today more than ever, Dr. King now seems with us. His premonition of not reaching the Promised Land at this moment seems false, because Barack Obama is standing on King's shoulders.
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