I grew up in a small midwestern farm town living a Norman Rockwell childhood. There were no Negroes in my town but I knew they existed and that other than skin color they were just people to. As far as I knew, all was right with the world, everyone was the same inside and there was no such thing as hate.

One morning, my mother informed me that Martin Luther King had been shot. She was very upset about it and said it was a very sad thing to have happened because he was a good man. I felt sad for him and his family, I didn't know why anyone would shoot him. I knew he was a black leader, I knew he was important but I didn't really understand why.

When I went to school that morning, I met up with the little girl I normally walked to school with and mentioned what my mother had told me. Her response sent a cold chill right through me. She said that she was glad he was dead and maybe now those people will know their place. That is not quite how she phrased it but you get the point. I was so shocked at what she said that I just stopped and looked at her.

At that moment, I understood the truth. I understood that the world is not a pretty place and that hate does exist. I understood why Mr. King was so important and I understood that the person who shot him didn't just hate him but everything he was and everybody he represented.

A large part of my childhood innocence was lost that day. I never walked with her to school again. I know now that she was just repeating what her parents taught her. I am so grateful that I had loving kind parents who taught me that we are all God's children and that even though we may look different or think differently we are all the same. I was taught not to judge or condemn. At that moment, I knew why they taught me these things.

I will never forget that day my view of the world changed so drastically. I wish it hadn't but the hard truth is that hate does exist and as long as little children are taught to hate it always will.

Learn more about this author, Gail Wiley.
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