From there, things really got interesting for me. Throughout my journey I found that I was most struck with the number of young people – children really – who were a part of the Civil Rights Movement: such as Sandra, who I met on our next stop in Smithville, GA. When Sandra was 11-years-old, she marched with Dr. Martin Luther King, was arrested and remained in jail for 45 days – and nobody notified her mother. She just woke up one day and wanted to be a part of the securing her own rights, and she was willing to face the consequences – even death – to do so. As I talked to her, I began to wonder – What was I doing when she was fighting for her rights (our rights) in 1968? That year, I was 13-years-old. If she was being arrested at 11, what was I doing at 13? I felt like I had missed a whole part of a history of which I should have been a part. Maybe it was because I was born in the north and not the south; nevertheless, I was not a part of something that should have been important to me.
From Smithville our journey took us to Atlanta. GA where we found ourselves at The King Center the very week that Coretta Scott King died. In fact, we had the opportunity to attend one of the small memorial services held at Ebenezer Baptist Church, where Dr. King was once pastor. I was so filled with awe at the opportuninity to participate in that part of history, that with tears streaming down my face, I grabbed my cell phone and called my husband. I remember saying to him:

“For most of my life, history was made and I did not participate, but for this, if people ask me where I was when Coretta Scott King died, I can say I was there.”