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Maybe it's because it was also my time in history. I was a sophomore in college at the time.
Maybe it's because it allows me some kind of molecular connection that I can maintain to G. Larry James, "the mighty burner" himself a '68 Olympian. A man so dear, a friend with a heart of pure gold, whose song was song all to softly, and who left us all too soon.
I remember the 40th Anniversary, the return to Mexico.
The celebrations, the honors, the "redemption".
But today I relearned a very important lesson. We cannot be one story people. It destroys the human experience. It denies our growth. It makes us less than complete. The rest of that lesson: we are not the author's of the stories of others. Our job is to listen, with an open and willing heart. To hear the truth from another perspective, to honor it as another's truth and allow it to come into our hearts. And it is an honor to hear the story from the author of the life. It is a responsibility to "pass it on" with the honesty and integrity with which it is told.
My last "again"... on the '68 Olympics is that there were 3 men who stood on that podium that day. One who is too often forgotten, but one whose image though muted is as strong as any other. There were three men. John Carlos, Tommie Smith and Peter Norman;
