By 
It is the beginning of January 2007 and I am here, comfortable, in my home in Moab, Utah. It is actually a second home. I live in Aspen, CO the rest of the year, but the place in Aspen is small and “lovely” while this place in Moab is grand and spacious by comparison. It’s a real house, with a two-car garage, a great little backyard with a therapeutic hot tub, and an amazing gas grill. It’s on a corner lot, in a cute little neighborhood.
As our nation enters the year 2007 and the month of January hurtles into recent history, I am vigilant. My vacation is coming to an end too quickly, so I take a look at my calendar, hoping to see another respite from the daily grind in my near future. I can’t help it. It’s in my nature not to want my little piece of paradise to come to an end. I click my Outlook through January weekends… I seem to remember a three day weekend here somewhere… no holiday? I think, when I finally get to the second weekend of January. Ah… There it is! I see that I have entered that my son has a three-day weekend starting on Saturday the thirteenth. But surely there must be a holiday involved? What is? I think, while clicking on Monday. Oh! Martin Luther King, Jr. Day! I knew there had to be a reason! I think to myself with a smile, proud of my diligence.
The day progressed, however, and this hint of unease tugged persistently at my consciousness. As I went about my day, I couldn’t really put my finger on what it was. Perhaps, when all white women reach a certain age (in their thirties), she begins to remember all the wonderful nuggets of gold she was taught as a child in parochial school (well, that part is just about me). Or will it be, that as I start to approach the last third of my life, the part beyond my “after thirty” (I’ve always divided it like this: before thirty, after thirty… and more there… .), that I have become more responsibly reflective? Perhaps I am more willing to allow information that I consider “important and factual” to enter the database of my mind? However, there was no denying it. This tug of what lies beneath my conscious mind would not rest.
It wasn’t until I was finally stopped in my tracks while preparing a delicious pepper steak, complete with shallot sauce and grilled zucchini, that I realized what it was all about. I felt embarrassed! As the sauce dripped from the spoon and I stared into space, I felt embarrassed that not only did I not know it was Martin Luther King, Jr. Day on that second weekend in January, but that I actually knew very little. about the man, and why there was a day in his honor. Sure, I knew he was a great leader in the early stages of our nation’s Civil Rights Movement. I knew that he was a loved, revered, and honored leader among black and white people who was senselessly and brutally murdered. But that was all he knew.
My ignorance could be excused and I could be absolved of all blame for simply being a victim of circumstance: I am a white female, born in New Mexico (a predominantly Hispanic, Native American, and Caucasian state), and raised in a culturally protected environment.
Like all good schoolchildren my age, I learned all the basics about Martin Luther King, Jr. I’m sure I was taught some of the facts in depth, but they had somehow eluded me.
I sat down at my computer and did a short search on this man I knew little about. I learned that Martin Luther King was a very well-educated man (he earned bachelor’s, master’s, and doctoral degrees, and later received several honorary degrees as well). Here I was, a private school kid (one of the best), raised without the prejudice that many face every day, and a college degree that had been reduced to the status of a “long-sought goal,” caught my eye. from the distant caverns of my soul.
This man, at the age of thirty-five, became the youngest winner at the time of the Nobel Peace Prize. He wasn’t a man of great means, so I’m sure the prize money of over fifty thousand dollars would have lightened the load, if it hadn’t helped cushion things a bit while he raised his family, but Mr. King opted to change his award. money for the promotion of the civil rights movement.
Not only was he well educated and extremely successful, but he was a man of purpose who truly lived what he believed in and what he talked about.
So, as I sit here at home in Moab, preparing to serve pepper steak and zucchini, I realize the irony of my thoughts about Martin Luther King, Jr. compared to the reality of my existence. It would be easy to pass judgment and think who is this white girl, with her privileged life, thinking that she can now relate to the cause of civil rights? But there is no need. I am not ignorant of the fact that many of those Dr. King worked hard to free were impoverished and broken in spirit. They knew nothing of the advantages someone like me had and my sheltered school and parish life. However, despite the fact that Dr. King fought in the trenches against injustices towards his fellow man, he also flew with eagles. He respected men and women alike, whether they were rich or poor, well educated or not. It would be more excruciating for me, in my “privileged” situation, not to write about this great man. It is much better for me to pay tribute to him, regardless of my social status or level of ignorance of Civil Rights.
I am not one to reflect or spend valuable time considering the reasons behind our nation’s holidays, but in the case of Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, I am acutely aware of how much more my mind and conscience have been enriched. by doing so. I will always honor and revere the man, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., who overcame all odds to accomplish great things on behalf of his people and his race.
Aside from our nation’s continued pursuit of civil rights for all Americans, no other statement can capture the greatness of the man, validating all he stood for, than naming a national holiday for him. I am proud of my nation and government for recognizing and choosing to honor a man of unparalleled integrity, courage, and determination.
Copyright (c) 2007 Lisa Jey Davis