My Not Very Good Depiction of Martin Luther King, Jr.
I grew up just outside Washington, D.C. I don’t want to reveal exactly how decrepit I am, but let’s say that I have pretty clear memories of what some consider the halcyon days of this country, that is, the years pre-1968.
They were really not all that halcyonish.
Yes, there were some aspects which today seem kind of wonderful. Kids played outdoors, often in back yards, often on not-very-trafficked streets, generally without need of adult supervision, and with zero electronic in-put. Parents seemed to keep marriages intact (even when one or both was not all that happy). (I understand that that last bit is problematic. I’m certainly not advocating unhappy marriages! I would point out, however, that people who are divorced are also not always that happy.)
But there were other aspects to these times. In my little suburban town, for example, virtually all of the African Americans lived on one run-down road, in wooden broken-down houses, in very conspicuous poverty. Of course, there were African Americans who were much more prosperous, but they did not seem to live in my town.
It is hard to imagine what kinds of expectations kids living on that road had. Certainly, from the back window of my parents’ car, which, until the desegregation of local schools, was my main view of that road, life looked very difficult.
Then came Martin Luther King, Jr. Listening to him was like listening to Prometheus–someone who held the secret of fire–someone who was aflame inside–someone who with that fire and flame would bring true change to humankind.
In an age of hype and spin and bloated political correctness and rabid anti-political correctness, it is difficult to understand how revolutionary and inspirational King was. Here’s to him today.
ManicDDaily 
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