November 22, 1963, when I was eight, President Kennedy was assassinated. In 1968, Martin Luther King in the spring then Bobby Kennedy in June. That same June I would turn 13 and I was celebrating in San Antonio with my Hispanic grandmother at the Hemisphere until we heard this news. She was so upset she fainted, party over. Her own father had been shot to death when she was a motherless teenager.

She had been very politically involved in the election of John Kennedy. Little shrines to him occupied prime territory in nearly every room of her home. I think now that some of her tears about Bobby Kennedy may have been old tears that she still needed to liberate.

This news about Donald Trump being our next president makes me want to cry. My ten year old granddaughter had been following the campaign. She was very worried when she went to bed last night. I know when she hears that he won, she might want to cry.

I was very politically motivated by what I experienced  with the death of the Kennedys and King. I have always considered myself to be a Kennedy kid, “Ask not what your county can do for you, but what you can do for your country.” The results of this election will only make me work harder to be that person.

I don’t know what else to do. But first, I am going to let myself liberate some tears…