Monday, June 29, 2015

rebel without a pause


June 1981--I was not yet 30--and my pals and I drove south in my pickup to go camping and fishing and to climb the Seneca Rocks.


In rural West Virginia, I had a truck window replaced.

The auto shop installed a flag license plate on my truck.

I didn’t ask for it but I thought it looked cool, 
and I didn’t stop to think what it meant.


Even with my education it did not register back then 
the racist oppression this symbol represents.

So I have a suggestion for a flag to honor the Charleston Nine.


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