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Heroes shape our worldviews in ways that echo through decades. Robert F. Kennedy was that transformative figure for me—not just a politician, but a beacon of compassion in a turbulent era.

Through a reflective reading of a New York Times article, I share the story of RFK's tragic assassination on that fateful night in June 1968. What strikes me most was Kennedy's authenticity—how even in his moment of triumph after winning the California primary, he took time to acknowledge the kitchen workers, predominantly people of color who were invisible to most politicians. This wasn't political calculation but genuine connection. As journalist Pete Hamill described, Kennedy moved through "the sort of place where Puerto Ricans, blacks and Mexican-Americans usually work to fill white stomachs," showing respect to those society often overlooked.

The loss of RFK came just months after Martin Luther King Jr.'s assassination, a devastating one-two punch that left many baby boomers like myself questioning if meaningful change was possible. Kennedy had been the one who broke the news of King's death to a predominantly Black audience with rare vulnerability, noting his own brother had been killed by a white man. While cities burned following King's murder, Indianapolis—where Kennedy spoke—remained calm, a testament to his unique ability to bridge divides.

I can't help but contrast Robert Kennedy's legacy of humility and compassion with what I perceive as the disappointing trajectory of his son, RFK Jr. For those who revered the father, the son's recent political positions feel like a betrayal of everything the original RFK stood for—his love for "everybody, especially the poor and the weak." Between reflections on this political heartbreak, I share glimpses of my current life—cleaning my new apartment, embracing simple joys, and reminding you that if nobody told you today, you are loved just for being you.

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I'm moving to a smaller apartment in our building because we can't afford our current place. After 10 years here and decades in LA, another move at 77 while caring for my husband with dementia feels overwhelming.

• Need to find additional work beyond acting and TikTok to supplement our income
• My lighting business was successful before I gave it up to pursue acting full-time
• Recently experienced severe depression and thoughts of not wanting to live
• Today is my estranged grandson Jackson's 18th birthday - haven't seen him in 13 years
• Moving requires sorting through accumulated possessions and dealing with emotional attachments
• Taking life one day at a time and focusing on my recovery program

If nobody told you they love you today, I love you because you're you. Keep doing what you're doing.

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Baseball connects us to our past in ways few other sports can. Today, I'm taking you back to the streets of Brooklyn in 1955, where a little girl fell in love with the Dodgers while her family was divided in their baseball loyalties. My father cheered for Willie Mays and the Giants, my brother worshipped Mickey Mantle and the Yankees, but my heart belonged to Brooklyn's Boys of Summer.

The crown jewel of my baseball memories remains Sandy Koufax, the Left Arm of God himself. Born in December 1935, Koufax transformed baseball during his 12 seasons with the Brooklyn/Los Angeles Dodgers. His achievements remain staggering - three unanimous Cy Young Awards, an MVP season in 1963, and a Hall of Fame induction at just 36 years old. What's most remarkable is how Koufax dominated the sport despite retiring at 30 due to chronic elbow pain, long before modern sports medicine might have extended his career.

My passionate defense of Koufax comes in response to a Los Angeles Times article suggesting Clayton Kershaw has surpassed him as the greatest Dodgers pitcher ever. While Kershaw deserves celebration for reaching 3,000 strikeouts, comparing modern players to legends from different eras often fails to account for crucial context. Today's pitchers benefit from advanced training, carefully managed workloads, and medical treatments that simply didn't exist during Koufax's time. Some baseball legacies should stand untouched, honored for not just what was accomplished but how those feats were achieved. For this Brooklyn girl, Sandy Koufax remains baseball's ultimate pitching icon, regardless of what modern sportswriters might claim.

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