Memories Of Our Lives, Of

I Had Given Up My Seat Before, But This Day, I Was Especially Tired. Tired From My Work As A Seamstress, And Tired From The Ache In My Heart.

When That White Driver Stepped Back Toward Us, When He Waved His Hand And Ordered Us Up And Out Of Our Seats, I Felt A Determination Cover My Body Like A Quilt On A Winter Night.

It Is Better To Protest Than To Accept Injustice.

There Were Times When It Would Have Been Easy To Fall Apart Or To Go In The Opposite Direction, But Somehow I Felt That If I Took On More Step, Someone Would Come Along To Join Me.

People Have Said Over The Years That The Reason I Did Not Give Up My Seat Was Because I Was Tired. I Did Not Think Of Being Physically Tired. My Feet Were Not Hurting. I Was Tired In A Different Way. I Was Tired Of Seeing So Many Men Treated As Boys And Not Called By Their Proper Names Or Titles. I Was Tired Of Seeing Children And Women Mistreated And Disrespected Because Of The Color Of Their Skin. I Was Tired Of Jim Crow Laws, Of Legally Enforced Racial Segregation.