On March 25, 1965, I was only 15 years old and already confused. I was grateful to this fine land for taking me in as a refugee, and had no patience for troublemakers like Martin Luther King saying there was anything wrong with this magnificent country. The confusion was that these marchers were carrying American flags as they tried to cross the Edmund Petus Bridge in Selma, and somebody was attacking them with police dogs and water cannons. Somebody was beating on my adoptive countrymen, and that wasn't right.

So it was that a young bigot was set on a course for redemption. The rest forms history book quizzes for our kids. But for those my age, we lived through it.

On March 25, 2016, I had the good fortune to be able to commemorate this American journey we have all shared. I threw in with a bicycle club that needed a photographer for the remembrance ride from Selma to Alabama's capitol in Montgomery.

A long ride on a ratty bike provides ample time to reflect on the past 51 years.

Most inspirational were not just the black and white mix of the bikers, but the folks driving by. We all wore shirts proclaiming what we were doing, and not one angry epithet from the cars passing by -- but plenty of yowls of support.

Sitting in the Ebeneezer Baptist Church in Atlanta some days later, listening to a recording of one of Dr. King's pastoral sermons, he just happened to be talking directly to me. As a minister, he of course liked Bible stories, and that time he preached about the prodigal son, the young sinner who pulls himself together and comes home to lead a righteous life.

I never understood why the prodigal son's dad was so happy to see his son recover, given that he had another son who had never strayed. Dr. King helped me understand.

Our liberals in Berkeley don't earn that many points for practicing racial justice, but Alabama rednecks coming from generations of racism and hatred, to change their hard hearts to tolerance, and even brotherly love, now that is worth celebrating. Not that bigotry has left the world, but seeing first hand the changes in the South, I understood why the prodigal son's dad threw a party.