They bombed our home, but we persisted
August 20, 1963, my mother and I went to the movie theater as we always did before I returned to college. Halfway through the film, a neighbor came to tell us that our house had been bombed. My heart was racing. I was filled with anxiety, fear, and anger. As we approached our house, outraged Blacks filled Center Street North. Police tried to control the crowd by firing guns is in the air. Windows had been blown out, drapes shredded, the garage doors destroyed. My dog Tasso had been killed in the bombing. I couldn’t stop crying. I grieved Tasso’s death for a long time.
September 4, only a few weeks later, our house was bombed again. This time my mother, father, and myself were all home. When the bomb exploded, I immediately fell to the floor as my father had always instructed. My knees buckled and my body was shook; I was scared. The pungent smell of dynamite filled the house. The smoke was so thick I could barely breathe. My eyes and nose burned. Growing up on “Dynamite Hill” during that era was difficult, but my parents demonstrated strength, courage, and resilience throughout those turbulent years.
This story by Barbara Shores first appeared in the Junior Ranger Book for Birmingham Civil Rights National Monument. She and the National Park Service have given permission to Kids in Birmingham 1963 to republish this story in November 2024.