As a 70-year-old, I find myself cherishing memories that others are prompted to share, such as we find here. Your sharing of your father's memories is an precious tribute to the person he was.

Having traveled around the world myself during my time on this earth, I remember that my wife and I visited Greece once. While we were there, we saw an old theater where ancient dramas had been performed. Among those plays, history reports two different kinds: Comedies and Tragedies.

I live in the Blue Ridge mountains of North Carolina. Having settled here by choice in my youth, our life here brings forth a "comedy", which is, as the ancient Greeks would classify it, a "happy ending" (although it hasn't ended yet.)

The other category of ancient drama is "tragedy."

Tragedy is what happened to the Cherokee who lived and prospered in these mountains that I now inhabit because long ago my ancestors immigrated from the British Isles and from France.

What my ancestors did to the Cherokees two centuries ago was tragic.

And yet, and yet, today, if you visit the town of Cherokee, NC, on the edge of a National Forest, you will find a people who are happy, well-adjusted, having adapted their life to make the best, for their children, of what an unjust, white nation had imposed upon them during that abusive, Jachsonian period of our history.

The Trail of Tears was a tragedy.

We remember who we were. Now we live in a melting pot nation that is always striving to find comic relief from the tragedies that haunt us.

We must not forget our history--who we were, what we did, and what we hope to become-- a nation of Americans who are all of us, "Free at last, free at last; thank God almighty we are free at last!"