I learned something about myself the other day, while reading my journal entries from 1947  (that’s 69 years ago).  We had a “maid/babysitter” named Georgia who was pleasant and had a good sense of humor and whose favorite radio program was Arthur Godfrey (and all the little Godfreys).  I had always felt a little proud of myself for correcting her when she said one day she would cook at my wedding. I recalled saying that one day she would dance at my wedding, and her laughing response, “Wouldn’t that be something.”   What I found I had written at the time was that I had corrected her saying she would dance at my wedding and my replying that she would cook at my wedding.  In both instances she laughed and said, “Wouldn’t that be something.”  I do remember for sure, however, that when her elderly husband died she had to borrow a few dollars from my father. I remember thinking how unfeeling he was to begrudge the loan and that we never saw Georgia again, nor of course the money.  She was a positive light from my childhood, and we were so poor she couldn’t have been making much money working for us.  I did recognize a paucity of compassion from my father.  I think I always knew that Black Lives Do Matter.