So my grandfather was one of the coolest dudes you ever could meet. I'm talking about the one who lived in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. He was a minister in the 1940s-1960s, worked with MLK and has (in my eyes) the wonderful privilege of being tried as a heretic.
Yep. A freakin' heretic. Why? Because the Presbyterian Church at the time (1950s) didn't like that he was inviting black people into his church and even *gasp* having mixed-race picnics. His outrageous views even got him mentioned in Time Magazine.
I spent a lot of time with him at the end of his life and we got along famously -- I think I got my sense of humor from him. And he gave me my love of pancakes. And stealing sugar packets from diners. Which I don't do any more, I'm a prosecutor for heaven's sake!
Anyway, I was very proud to see that almost twenty years after his death, he's still being recognized.
Charlie Jones. Grandaddy, to me. And the best thing he ever said to me?
Ah, no, can't repeat it here, now that I think about it. But that's the kind of minister he was. My kind. And I'm embarrassed that I've never mentioned him here before.