To forget the Grandfathers is to kill the dead, again.

Without the ancestors, we are without compass.

Not knowing from whence we came,

we lose the sense of where we’re going.

Even descending from some link

to some Plymouth Rock Crew

or some Revolutions Daughter.

Give them their due, sure!

But Hell!

They are but a blink in time!

A dot on History’s long line!

Cherish whoever came before.

Even if all they are is myth.

The dream of an iguana basking on warm Fiji sand.

Wondering how he got there.

On some seaweed raft.

Drifting from Galapagos, millenniums ago.

Washing him ashore, onto this strange land.