Buried deep beneath the stone

On 28 August 1963 I was a busy little lady. I was not yet 2 months old. My parents pulled out a drawer from their dresser, put me in it, loaded up a station wagon with my sisters and three other friends and drove to Washington DC for the march that pretty much helped to shape and change the world for a huge portion of our population. Yes, there were 249,999 other people there, but my parents told Jack and Gus the story of our trip to that, and various other civil rights and anti-war extravaganzas and they sat and listened without once mentioning Halo or Perfect Dark Zero. This gives me some credibility in their eyes me thinks, but most of all it reminds me that though I felt and was neglected as a kid, they were thinking about good and doing the right thing in the world, it just didn't lend itself to the parenting portion of our program.