MY SON

Hey, man, you say you're gonna let your son go down there?  He could get 
killed?

Maybe.

That's dangerous.  They got knives and guns.  They steal and get drunk and … 
man, he could get killed.

Maybe he could do some good.

Yeah, yeah.  He'll go down there and try to help and they'll laugh at him.

Prob'ly so.

You can't love your son very much.

As much as anybody else.  I love him a whole lot.

Yet you'd let him take a chance with losing his life for a bunch of blacks 
and poor people and people with no education…people you don't even know and 
don't know you or him and act like enemies of society and America and 
everything that's right.  You love him, baloney.  He could die.

There are worse things than dying for something you believe in.

Like what?

Like staying alive and having nothing you believe in enough to take a chance 
on dying for it.

Man, that's all right in theory.  But this is your son.  He's got to be more 
important than anything or anybody…or else you don't amount to much as a 
father.  You're cold.

And so he did go.  I let him go because he wanted to.  And I wanted him to.  
He didn't do much good there.  Oh, he won a few followers…a handful of 
fisherman and some others, plus a lot of people who weren't exactly against 
him but were not willing to get involved when it got right down to the 
die-for-it bit.  And the guy was right. They did kill him.  Put him on a 
cross.  My son.