A white man celebrates MLK Day

Well, maybe I’m not the best example. I don’t have much patience for ceremony or parades, and political posturing triggers my gag reflex.

But I was reminded of something as I drove, and my 8-year-old daughter Melanie and her friend Alex played “Go-Fish” in the back seat on Martin Luther King Jr. Day. I remembered when I picked Melanie up on the Friday before MLK Day two years ago, when she was just 6 and in the first grade.

At the Kedron Elementary School Melanie was a “car rider” that day. When her first grade class ended at 2:30, instead of being walked in a group by the teacher to the after-school program, she emerged at the front of the school where a teacher checks with each driver to make sure the right child goes to the right car, one child at a time. When Melanie climbed in my truck and grabbed the orange candy peanuts I had saved for her, she was flushed and ready for after-school adventure.

“Dad, we get three stay-home days.”

“I know. Monday is a school holiday.”

“And Mom is staying home Monday, Dad!”

“Yep, she sure is.”

“Dad, did you know Monday is Martin Luther King Day?”

“Yes, I know.” And sometimes I get a little tired of it all. Now before you start throwing rocks I’ll tell you what I mean.

The day before, President Bush laid a wreath at MLK’s grave while the King family and local race hustlers, er, civil rights leaders, publicly grumbled and some protested Bush. Presidents get to wrap themselves up in MLK and what he stood for, trying for unabashed virtue by association. Self-appointed black leaders promote themselves by sanctimoniously claiming MLK and what he stood for as their own while pretending the same oppression exists today as in the 1960s.

It seems everyone ignores the depth of changes in our laws and practices and culture since that time. Overt discrimination is almost rare, prosecution of civil rights violation is often swift and sure, and equality has become our expectation.

It seems that MLK’s whole point about equality and being judged by the content of one’s character instead of the color of one’s skin gets lost in a political tug-of-war.

Meanwhile the pragmatic King family makes its lazy living off MLK’s name and charging fees for using clips from his “I have a Dream” speech to do important things, like sell soap. All of this me-first jockeying seems far beneath the legacy of a great man.

I wrote something for my young daughters to read when they are older just in case I get hit by a truck. Since they both were born in China and will likely feel the sting of discrimination some day, they might need some extra perspective and strength.

In my narrative to them I ask in a number of places, “Who do you admire?” In a chapter by that same name I tell them who they choose to admire will say a lot about them, and I warn them of the pop culture luring them to admire celebrities and athletes when they might be better served by admiring ordinary people with strong character. I tell them, as an example, some of the people I admire. My top two are John Steinbeck, for reasons I won’t go into here, and Martin Luther King, Jr.

I admire MLK because he had right on his side and he had the courage of his convictions in a dangerous place. I grew up in the South and I clearly remember the day he was shot and killed. I worked for a man named Cal repairing small- and medium-sized engines. As we watched the event unfold on TV, Cal said, “I’m glad they finally killed that SOB,” and my estimation of Cal changed forever.

I was 19 years old then, and I didn’t take the risk to tell Cal or anyone else around me that I disagreed with them, that I thought MLK had right on his side. I didn’t have much character of my own back then.

“Do you know how Martin Luther King died, Dad?” Melanie asked from the back seat.

“Yes, I do.”

“He was making an important speech and someone shot him.”

“Well, he wasn’t making a speech when he was shot.” Little corrections help her get it right.

“Yeah, I know, he was standing on his porch or something and a bad man shot him.”

“That’s right, a bad man shot him.”

“Before that he made an important speech, Dad. He made an important speech so we could be free to play together. When he was a little boy there was a law that said brown people and white people couldn’t play together so he made a speech so me and Alex and Darby can play together, Dad, did you know that?”

“That’s right.” Wow. Thank you, Cheryl Wiley, Melanie’s first grade teacher.

Alex and Darby are her two best friends in the world, both blue-eyed blondes. Alex stayed overnight last night because her parent’s work schedule was a bummer, and the girls had a giggle-fest. But I didn’t know Melanie thinks of herself as brown, not that it matters. At some point I need to explain her race will be described by others as yellow, and I know she will agree with me how stupid all those artificial dividing lines can be.

That was two years ago, but I pretty much ignore the MLK Day ceremonies and speeches and parades every year; it’s just not me. I suppose the best way a white man, or any color man or woman, can best celebrate MLK Day is to teach their kids who deserves to be admired.

And I’ve discovered someone new to admire. Her name is Melanie.