I loved him. My closet was covered with pictures of him, Parker Stevenson and Shaun Cassidy.
I remember being thrilled when I received his album as a Christmas present.
He kissed me on the cheek after some sort of pageant in Kansas City.
He was beautiful.
I am sitting on a bench in Union Station that thousands of people have sat upon over the last hundred years. In my own silence, amidst the hubbub of the room, I can hear the voices and feel the movements of men, women and children who have long since died. I’m serious. And again, I feel comfortable in their midst.
It is said that by 2050 whites will be the minority in the United States. I find it rather exciting, this change. As a little girl, I grew up in a predominantly white town. In fact, I do not have a recollection of students of color until middle school and even then there were only 2 or 3. This morning I am sitting in the waiting room of the Kansas City Union Station and I am one of only 5 whites in a filled room. I feel comfortable. I do not feel like an outsider. I’ve always enjoyed people. Well, people watching. To my left there is a middle-aged black woman conversing with an elderly black couple across from us. To my right there is a young black couple, holding each other and kissing. Normally that would grate on my nerves, but today I am warmed by this couple’s affection for each other. An elderly white couple just sat down across from me where the elderly black couple had been. It took a couple of tries, but I got a smile out of the woman. 
