I was eight years old. Dr. King still had about three more years of work to do before he'd be shot on the balcony of a motel in Memphis. Gun shots that would set angry fires blazing and police sirens wailing pain in almost every big city in America and then land him squarely in the history books forever and a day.
We are raising children in an age where there seems to be more worry and fear about everything, and less ability to persevere and cope in the face of adversity. Our modern day technological culture promotes doing things easier and quickly. Exerting the least amount of effort for the greatest impact and reward seems to be most valued.
As I face the inevitable of not knowing when my father will pass, I know that because of him, I will be able to get through it. All that I am as a son, brother, father, and person is not something that will end because of his death. More importantly, because I am my father's son and the relationship I have had with him, I will carry it on in who I am.