Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: MONDAY, December 5, 1994                   TAG: 9412080016
SECTION: EDITORIAL                    PAGE: A-9   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: EUGENIA LINDSEY
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

JFK

As I searched for yet another reason other than "I'm the mom, that's why," I realized that I was not much older than he when I watched John Kennedy assassinated, mourned and buried, over and over again, in November 1963. I was 10 years old. My mom and I sat and cried as she tried to explain the importance of this gruesome act.

It seemed then, as it does now, a sign of a society out of control. An act of barbaric cruelty in what was supposed to be a civilized time, an era termed Camelot. The promise of those years was not wasted on many of the people who lived in my neighborhood. Although as children we did not realize it, we were poor. Our houses bordered the Darst-Webby projects, a federal housing program in St. Louis - a program gone very bad. The antipoverty programs so dismissed today were the very reason many of us living in and around the projects escaped into education.

The vision that began in the Kennedy years and enacted in the Johnson administration gave hope and a solid future to many children born in the '50s and '60s. But the vision of equality that bolstered the hopes of many also led to a surge of unrealistic expectations to those who had waited so long for a fair share of the "American Dream." Too many needs, too many demands, limited access - these were the problems of an equitable distribution. The dam burst.

Social dissidence grew from the obvious gap between what America was in reality and what could realistically be accomplished. This discontent, coupled with an unpopular war in Indochina, began to unravel widely held concepts of authority and autonomy.

And, as leaders representing ideals for change began to be eliminated one by one before the eyes of the nation, the very act of hope became dangerous. It was a time of great confusion.

Many of my friends grew into adolescence debating the ideals of freedom and justice. Some of those friends were sent to war, to be changed forever by the violence and death they saw. I stayed and served in ghettos very similar to the one I grew up in. I witnessed violence and death in the inner cities of Boston and St. Louis, and fought to bring a vision of hope to children who had limited sight of their future.

More than 30 years have passed, and the wars of ignorance and poverty continue in every part of our country. Children remain the first to die in war and the last to benefit in its spoils. And after so many years of protest, murder and genocide, we still rely on violence to solve our conflicts, and teach our children to do the same.

The policies of the Kennedy administration, in retrospect, get very mixed reviews. Sure, there were great speeches, but we also were led to the brink of nuclear war. John Kennedy as a man was fallible, corruptible and would fail all manner of current public opinion. But, as fallen as our heroes and ideals have become, I cannot bring myself to tell my children that the vision of a better world has dimmed, and we have failed.

Because now the children of Camelot carry on the inheritance of our parents. We have stepped into the very ideals we rejected. We have stepped into our adult shoes. How shall we wear them? What steps will we take to evolve, to improve our community, country, our world?

Those solutions, our plans, take a vision and a renewed commitment for change. Which is the lesson I finally gave to my son. First, have a vision of how we as a people should live with one another, then find a way to live that ideal. Don't sit back and wait for everything to improve or "get better." Make it better.

And as I explained this, I remembered that overused Kennedy quote. "Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country." As hokey as it seemed, those words are still good words. So, what did the Kennedy years represent? "Hope that people can make everything better," my son said. Maybe we can.

Eugenia Lindsey is a licensed clinical social worker in Roanoke.