Two out of my three children are in private school (at least until the end of this year) but my middle son, Caleb, has started going to a PUBLIC school. As such, he got Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday off from school yesterday. So we had a Caleb/Daddy day in celebration of Martin Luther King, Jr. We started with donuts from Martins; went over to bowl a few games at Chippewa Bowl; found our way to a late lunch at Olive Garden; and then wrapped up the afternoon with some Guitar Hero! Good day.
What has been interesting is Caleb’s interest in Martin Luther King Jr. He has been learning about his life in school. I’m not sure what all they have taught him, but it has him asking a lot of questions. It has been fun, and interesting, to share the story and life of Martin Luther King Jr. with my eight year old.
My favorite speech/correspondence from Martin Luther King Jr. is his Letter from a Birmingham Jail. It was sent to his fellow clergymen (doesn’t it just figure!) who encouraged him to “wait” and quit being such a radical in regards to civil rights and equality (what else would you expect to happen to a prophetic voice?). Here is, in part, Martin Luther King’s response:
We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed. Frankly, I have never yet engaged in a direct action movement that was “well timed,” according to the timetable of those who have not suffered unduly from the disease of segregation. For years now I have heard the words [sic]“Wait!” It rings in the ear of every Negro with a piercing familiarity. This “Wait” has almost always meant “Never.” We must come to see with the distinguished jurist of yesterday that “justice too long delayed is justice denied.”
We have waited for more than three hundred and forty years for our constitutional and God-given rights. The nations of Asia and Africa are moving with jet-like speed toward the goal of political independence, and we still creep at horse and buggy pace toward the gaining of a cup of coffee at a lunch counter. I guess it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say, “Wait.” But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate filled policemen curse, kick, brutalize and even kill your black brothers and sisters with impunity; when you see the vast majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society; when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six-year-old daughter why she can’t go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that Funtown is closed to colored children, and see the depressing clouds of inferiority begin to form in her little mental sky, and see her begin to distort her little personality by unconsciously developing a bitterness toward white people; when you have to concoct an answer for a five-year-old son asking in agonizing pathos: “Daddy, why do white people treat colored people so mean?”; when you take a cross-country drive and find it necessary to sleep night after night in the uncomfortable corners of your automobile because no motel will accept you; when you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading “white” and “colored”; when your first name becomes “nigger,” your middle name becomes “boy” (however old you are) and your last name becomes “John,” and your wife and mother are never given the respected title “Mrs.”; when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tip-toe stance never quite knowing what to expect next, and plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of “nobodiness”; then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait. There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be plunged into an abyss of despair. I hope, sirs, you can understand our legitimate and unavoidable impatience.