As that noted civil rights activist Trent Lott has said many times -- at least in the past week -- segregation was a sin and a stain on our nation.

But for a sin and a stain, it wasn't all bad.

Contrary to common misperceptions, black life in the segregated South was not one of unrelenting misery, with us shuffling around going, "Oh, lawdy, we's bein' segregated."

No sirree. We lived, Jack, even as our leaders battled to end segregation.

While some current so-called leaders would have us believe that nothing has changed -- so they can keep a job and remain relevant -- the truth is that conditions and opportunities for most blacks in the South have improved beyond anything we could've dreamed.

I'm not trivializing or romanticizing what was a dreadful period in our history, so keep those accusatory letters.

Just between us, though, many black institutions thrived during segregation, and many black students thrived despite inferior school resources. Kids have new books now, but as Jesse Jackson asked -- back when he was relevant -- "What does it matter if you have old or new books if you open neither?"

I'm of the last generation of blacks who remember being forced by law to sit in the balcony at the movies or having to fry up a couple of yardbirds for long road trips because you might not find a restaurant that would serve you.

Psst, lean closer: We liked sitting in the balcony -- but not being forced to -- and nothing in any restaurant has ever tasted as good as my grandmother's fried chicken on a piece of light bread.

"Drumline," a new movie about competition between bands at historically black colleges, reminded me of the fun to be had in a small Southern town during the mid- to late 1960s, when legal segregation wheezed its last, labored breath.

Sure, Leak Street School, which went from first grade through 12th, received less money per student from the state than all-white schools, and the hand-me-down textbooks were often obsolete by the time we received them.

But we made do. When the Christmas parade rolled around, however, we did more than make do: We made up -- for all we'd been denied. Each year, Leak Street's Marching Tigers, led by band director Lewis Broadnax, high-stepped through downtown Rockingham and just tore the place up. I mean.

The Morrison Training School Drill Team, all black except for one or two white kids whose parents obviously didn't have the juice to keep them out of the joint, owned the parade with its precision marching drills. But Leak Street's band was a strong No. 2.

The school was blessed with two great drum majors, both of whom -- by cosmic coincidence -- were named Larry Diggs. When the first one graduated, the band never missed a step.

Now, I consider myself to be a dancing fool when I want to be, but both of those dudes had more rhythm in their big toe than I have in my whole body.

Junior Walker, in his song "Way Back Home," wrote, There are good and bad things about the South/And some leave a bitter taste in my mouth.

Mine, too, Junior. But some bring a smile to my face.