Martin Luther King Jr. was in every facet of the word a Global Hero. He changed the history books every US Citizen and potentially abroad would view and learn about in school. Not to the degree I would hope, not enough in my opinion on US History but that is another topic entirely. I digress. But as a child I remember learning of MLK Day and the importance it had on me and not fully knowing or understanding the breath and scope of it and more importantly just how it would impact my personal future.
I am married to a wonderful man; smart, full of wisdom, funny, charismatic, kind hearted, fun spirited, Christian and one who actually leads as though he is a Christian because he is the least hypocritical person I know and so full of love and forgiveness, gorgeously handsome, and beautifully chocolate. Because we fell in love, and God brought us together, we now have two beautifully caramelly chocolate children. He is black. My children are black.
I look at them as though they are far better than I. My husband is so much smarter in so many ways than I and I truly do look to him for guidance and wisdom in almost all facets of my life. My children are far better versions of me and my husband. Yet, I am the privileged one. I am white.
Yes, I am a woman, so there is that demographic to consider, but I am still white. I still only shutter and fear getting pulled over just because it would suck to have to pay a ticket and have my insurance go up. I can walk into any store, literally, with my yoga pants and a hoodie and not have anyone look at me with a side eye. But, with tears in my eyes, I can honestly say that dynamic changes when I have my kids with me and my husband standing beside me. Nothing too terrible or too traumatic, but different non the less. Hesitancy most times. Sometimes we get the “your children are sooooooo beautiful’ comment and occasionally an attempt to touch their hair. Rarely, but we have definitely received the disgusted look and clear disapproval for the array of colors my family presents.
One time, before kids, my husband and I were driving through Indiana coming home from a quick trip to North Carolina for his sister’s college graduation. We were in southern Indiana. It was a quick pit stop for gas, lunch and a potty break. An all-in-one type of gas station, with a McDonalds connected. Ray pumped the gas while I went in to use the restroom. I walked out minding my business and met him in line for food at MickyD’s. Nothing was said but standing in line, the worker behind the only cash register, took one look and stepped away from the cash register, folded his arms across his chest and starred. My husband just stood there looking on at the man showing clearly that he was not about to serve us. It was what seemed like minutes before the manager walked over and took one look at my husband, than a look at the guy crossing his arms leaning on the counter behind him with an evil look in his eye and went to the register and took our order. We waited for our food while the guy continued to look on. By the time we got back in the car, I was literally shaking and tears streaming down my face. It was the first time in my life that I had firsthand witnessed racism. In fact, I was so damn dumb that I didn’t even recognize what it was until we got to the car.
Racism doesn’t necessarily have to be heard or seen with the wave of a confederate flag. It can be felt.
You can feel the hatred. It is poignant and increases all of your senses simultaneously. Your innate nature is the flight or fight stress response. I could feel in my bones that these complete strangers despised both my husband and me. Like, if given the opportunity, they would hurt us and that they wanted to. We were just a young couple using the bathroom and getting some fries.
MLK Day represents SOOOO much more than the way I felt that day, but to me, it is still a grave reminder of that day and sadly, that there is almost certainty that my children will experience something similar in their lifetime or God forbid worse.
But MLK Day also represents hope to me. Hope for generation to generation walking more with love than walking with hate. Hope that my children will have a better chance than my husband. And our someday hopeful grandchildren will see less hate than my children do. That hope has been a bit shaky though this year, as yet another grave reminder that there is still SOOO much hate that surrounds us.
But change starts in the home. It starts with one parent realizing the truth, that discrepancies are real, that Black Lives Matter movement IS necessary, that racism is a very real thing. And then that parent actively makes a change. Change within themselves but more importantly, teaches their children the necessary changes to walk in love rather than to walk in hate.
MLK is a hero but you can be too. Be the change. Be your child’s hero. Be my children’s hero. There is so much room in this world for far more than one. And in order for change to continue…we need them, we need heroes. We need you. We need little hero’s and big hero’s making an active change for our future. MLK = hero. You = ______ by all means, fill in the blank.
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