I talked to my father a lot about his early life in Wilson. Even when his memory began to fade, he enjoyed a ride up East Green Street, where he would marvel that so many of the “big dogs”‘ houses were gone, and the tiny cottage on Elba in which he’d been born was still standing. We talked about a lot of things, but I never thought to ask my father what he remembered about what he would have known as Rountree Cemetery. If I could have one more conversation, Rountree wouldn’t be the first topic on my list, but I wish I’d asked when I had the time. He always enthusiastically supported all I did and would have lent his voice to those crying out for justice for the Lane Street Project cemeteries.
Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out here loving and encouraging and inspiring their children. I surely miss mine.