Every summer, my parents would cart my brother and me to the Juneteenth Heritage Festival for a free evening of family fun. Although the festival was in the Greenwood District, the 1921 race riot was never mentioned by my parents, or by anyone else. Most of the music was unremarkable, the festival an opportunity for aging bar bands to shake the dust off and remember the good old days. We would head home around dark when the headliner would take the stage, and in my memory it always a smooth soul-jazz band with synthesizers and drum machines, something like George Smallwood. My guess is that most of the families that looked like mine also turned tail, thinking that the funnel cakes were the main event.