Share 'I was called crazy for wanting to go to DC on Tuesday'

I'm not crazy when, I was 3, I cried because I had to sit in the back of an empty bus with my Grannie. In '63, I cried because Mom had to go to the back door of a Howard Johnson's to get a cup of coffee. When we moved to Atlanta in 63, I cried because the Klan was walking around in sheets and a pickup truck followed us on a dark road (a mom and two kids alone). In '68 I cried when Martin Luther...