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My daughter and I have a standing “joke” about singers. If two songs by the same artist play on the radio in a row (and it’s not two-fer Tuesday) it might be the artist’s birthday. If three songs are played in a row, we know that it is definitely bad news, they have probably died. So, she knew exactly what I meant when I woke her for school on Friday morning with these words.
“There were three news items about Mandela this morning.”
Tears sprung to her eyes and we hugged.
We, like so many, have a special (virtual) relationship with Mandela. We spent hours at the Apartheid Museum in South Africa a few years ago, watching videos and reading about his life and his choices. We have talked often about how the decisions he made about how to act and react shaped South Africa and the world. My daughter researched his life for a project on him last year for school.
She had a picture of him that had been lying around on her bookshelf. That evening when I went to tell her goodnight, the picture was stuck up on her wall.
There were no more words to be said.