I was called “Junior” as a kid.

I don’t know the story behind Daddy’s name.

My name is a small part of my identity.

But I am a living tribute to my dad.  

In March of 1934, people worldwide were suffering horribly in the Great Depression, in Germany Adolf Hitler declared himself Supreme Ruler, in Russia Stalin began his massacres. In China, Mao Tse-Tung was spreading his brand of communist doctrine, White South Africans were massacring Black South Africans, and Apartheid had not even begun. It was the eve of the eruption of World War 2; nevertheless, my paternal grandparents, Jenkins Gaston Moore and Chanie Degraffenreidt Moore celebrated the birth of their 5th and last child, David, into the world of Jim Crow.

Baby David barely survived childbirth, and tragically, his twin sister did not make it. Heaven only knows if grandpa and grandma anticipated the kind of boy and the kind of man their baby David would become and how he would make the world brighter for so many people.