I stumbled across the Lorraine Motel last winter. I couldn't figure out why the garishly colored turquoise and orange concoction seemed so familiar to me. I only figured it out when the MLK museum came into view.
Like most of America, my world in 1968 is viewed in black and white. From the images floating on my TV to the grown-up discussions of race happening three feet over my head. My child world was awash in Barbies, Red Rover, sunshine. Awash in color. I had no understanding of the event. No memory of it.
As I became older and saw images of this place in Memphis they were always grainy black and white. Ghosts of years past. It took a moment standing there in the December sunshine to reconcile the colored building I was seeing with the black and white one in my head. To understand that the black and white view was an illusion. That they are one and the same.
WE are not black and white. We are one and the same too. Vividly colored individuals of infinite beauty.