this little light...

Tonight, my daughter "The Chicklet" (my sunshine) will be performing in a show her theater teacher has put on. This will not be her first foray on stage, but she's excited nonetheless and so am I.

She's doing a skit and they also have a song and dance number to The Beatles "Here Comes The Sun"... after the snow that fell yesterday it would be nice if the sun actually did finally make it to our little patch of earth.

When I visited my friend Doc and read his post about Martin Luther King and the memories he shared with us, I was reminded of my youth. A time when I too took to the stage to perform.

I grew up in a white neighbourhood, went to a white school and had very little direct contact with people of other ethnic backgrounds (except the Greek side of the family which doesn't really count as "other" and Mrs Lee at the Chinese restaurant). In our school, the "ethnic" kids were the handful of kids that came from the neighbouring Mohawk reservation.



Then one day, I met Mr. Charles Griffith.

My parents enrolled me in tap lessons you see (Mom even took some too), and Mr Griffith owned the school. I can't put my finger on how old I was when I started ( I may have been 5), but I remember meeting him and shaking his hand. He had, what seemed to me like a very large hand.


Mr. Griffith was a black man.


I observed him with great curiosity, looked at the palms of his hands, took notice of the texture of his hair and decided he had the best smile I'd ever seen. He was a genuinely nice man who was welcoming and exhuded warmth... I wondered about his skin tone as I observed and focused on his hands. I studied the differences between the colour of his palms, the creases in them, the tops of his hands, under his fingernails... I wondered what caused the difference. Was it like what happened to my skin in the summer time? My fascination lasted a few short minutes, which can seem like a long time, and is for a child so young. And then, I forgot about it. I figured it was like having different hair colour and then I started wondering when I'd get the tap shoes that made a lot of noise and never looked back.


My father taught me about tolerance. He believed in treating people with respect. What was important to him was whether or not someone was honest and hard working.

He was the son of immigrants to Canada... an Irish woman and a Greek man... who came thousands of miles from their respective countries with their very different languages and cultures.. met and fell in love.

My Papou and Grandma Mary raised a family together... five wonderful children. They instilled in their children a strong work ethic, a sense of civil duty and community. And an appreciation for tolerance and acceptance of others' differences.

My father and his brothers and sisters shared those values with us, the next generation... and the cycle continues.





It can be done, we can all get along... but we have to want to. Let the sun shine in babies...

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it's all right


Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
and I say it's all right

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
and I say it's all right

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it's all right

It's all right

-- George Harrison