When I locked the office door

Friday evening, from across the way at Tiger Stadium I heard the horn

section unrolling "Pomp and Circumstance" for Fayette County

High School's graduating seniors. There were applause and cheers. I stopped

and listened and tried to imagine.

Unlike many such graduation

evenings in the past, the fading day was warm but not hot, the lengthening

sun pleasant on the arms and face. At three other county schools that

evening, hundreds of young men and young women were electric with anticipation.

There would be tears, but there

was that heady taste of release, the prospect of unknown adventures, youthful

opportunities. As it does for all of us once or twice in our lives, the

Future bowed low and inviting before them. They were about to be Free.

Ah, can anyone remember, "Free"?

Ahead three days and it's Memorial

Day. The unofficial start of summer has taken on more somber tones this

year. Flags are everywhere. The National Anthem rings out. Old men in

civvies and colored hats salute. The mournful bugle sounds "Taps."

Tears fill many eyes. Lost friends are remembered. Many wonder why some

died while they lived to sway in the cool morning rays. There are speeches,

but there are no answers.

Ah, can anyone remember, "Free"?

Friday mid-morning before graduation,

a young man holds court in a Waffle House. He has friends with him, but

he is the loud one, shouting almost, bantering with waitresses, with friends,

with the very air itself. To some, the young man with closely cropped

hair is obnoxious, full of testosterone and himself. To others, he is

full of nervous joy, object of their exasperated affection. He has an

appointment with destiny that very evening; he is in happy turmoil with

this concept of "Free."

In another time, I can see

him in fatigues, G.I. haircut, carbine in hand, preparing to defend his

country. I am aware of how much we need this young man to protect us,

instead of us needing to be protected from him. Where will his "Free"

lead him?

That night, a young women with

oxygen tubes in her nose rises from her wheelchair and strides forward

with a smile to receive her diploma. Showing unexpected strength, she

is a cancer warrior, so young, so fragile, so determined. Her perspective

of "Free" is likely to be different from many of her companions.

So many walking forward, so many diplomas, so many smiles, laughter, exultant

shouts.

The neighborhood pool opened

Sunday. You could hear kids blocks away. Is there anything more "Free"

than to be 10 and out of school on the first day swimming is allowed?

People just want to be "Free,"

the song says, and this weekend, this pleasant beginning of summer, so

many are.

I was nine months away from

wearing a military uniform when Martin Luther King, Jr., proclaimed to

a sweltering mass in our nation's capital in that troubled summer of 1963,

"I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every

hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain,

and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord

shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

"This is our hope. This

is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will

be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this

faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation

into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able

to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail

together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free

one day.

"This will be the day

when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, 'My

country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where

my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside,

let freedom ring."

Ah, let us all try to remember,

"Free."