Dear Martin

19 Jan

I think you would have smiled today.

I’m too young to remember your life, but just the right age to realize your legacy. The separate water fountains were long since gone by the time I was born. But the tables at my junior-high cafeteria were still separated by color, by unspoken rule as strong as any law.

Our churches, too, although we would have told you, and been honest when we said it, that it was a force of habit, not a decision to exclude that made it so. I would have fiercely told you I was not prejudiced, but my life certainly wasn’t integrated, either. All my friends looked like me.

But in the summer of my fifth-grade year, the color barrier came down with a splash when a beautiful African-American family with three rambunctious boys moved in three houses down. 

But race was secondary to the important factor. They had a pool. So we traipsed up and down the sidewalk all summer, wet footprints washing away any remnants of color-consciousness. I tutored the  boys in math, and although I would deny it if asked, they may have taught me to jump straight from the bedroom window, cannonballing into the deep end.

My children now, blessed in ways they take for granted,  have role models of every race and culture. Their principal from Oakland, the beautiful Indian woman who owns the beauty salon, friends from Haiti, China, Poland, Mexico.

When we were preparing to adopt last year, my daughter surprised me when she said “well, I want a sibling who looks like me.” Startled, I asked “so you wouldn’t want a sister like…” and named a friend who is a gorgeous blend of African-American and Hispanic.

“Oh no, she looks like me,” said our fair-haired, blue-eyed girl without missing a beat. “Just not someone real tall.”  In a few weeks, when our son-to-be came to visit, they laughed and roasted marshmallows over the dining-room candles and raced with the dogs around the block.

“Oh mom,” she whispered that night when I tucked her in, “I think we found our  boy.”  His olive skin and dancing dark eyes were never a factor. Not with us, not with his grandparents who lived through segregation, not even for his great-grandmother who would appall me as a teen by using “Negro” and “colored” long after they had fallen out of favor.

So on this beautiful January day, as we get ready to celebrate our nation’s first black president, I found it only fitting that we should  join thousands in our city to march in your honor,  Dr. King.

We shared the shuttle bus with dreadlocked twenty-somethings, a white-haired Caucasian couple, a group of Muslim women in  hijabs carrying pro-Palestinian signs, people of every race and station. We were the last on the bus, and as we walked down the aisle, a young African-American woman was quick to stand and offer her seat.

I smiled as I declined, and then we both laughed to realize the seat she was sitting in had a sign above it honoring Rosa Parks. On this day, I was certainly not going to let her give it up.

The march was packed and the pace was slow enough that we walked with several groups on the journey. My son admired the uniforms of the Buffalo Soliders. My daughter and I sang spirituals with a gospel choir. I took a picture of a shirt that made me smile, and we all hugged a woman with a sign offering “Free Hugs.”

Then, as we neared the end, I saw two elderly men, arm-in-arm, each using a cane to make their way. One white, one black, each leaning on the other for support. They were passing a phone back and forth, talking to one man’s daughter in Maine.  “I know, I know,” one of them said. “Did you ever think this day would come? But I thank God it has.”

Yes, I do think you would have smiled.


Still Dreaming with You

MLK March

15 Responses to “Dear Martin”

  1. Rachel January 19, 2009 at 4:21 pm #

    I love that shirt!! And I appreciate your comments.

  2. Claire January 19, 2009 at 4:49 pm #

    Dammit.. stop making me cry.

    Love you.

  3. Rob January 19, 2009 at 6:58 pm #

    You know I’m a man of few words. So…wow.

  4. Elle January 19, 2009 at 10:08 pm #

    How did you know I love to cry before going to bed?

    Amazing post. I wish I could have joined you there today. Wait-I just did! So thank you.

    That. Was. Awesome.

  5. RJ Flamingo January 19, 2009 at 10:19 pm #

    Great post. I can’t wait for tomorrow….

  6. Ron Merlin January 20, 2009 at 12:24 am #

    What a great post….So outshines mine, but I thought I’d share mine anyway, because apparently, we agree…. I am so excited for tomorrow…..And I know it’ll be tough, and I know it’s gonna hurt, but we WILL do it, and I believe in this man….

    Thanks for your post, it teared me up…..and what can say more about a new President, than tearing up when you hear about him, huh? You know what I mean?


  7. canarygirl January 20, 2009 at 2:00 am #

    You have a gift for words that few people in this world have, my friend. What an incredibly beautiful post. And that t-shirt rocks, too. MUAC

  8. Jen January 20, 2009 at 8:27 am #

    I should have just left the make-up off this morning.

    I agree, that t-shirt does ROCK!

  9. Katie January 20, 2009 at 8:43 am #

    That was wonderful. Thanks for sharing.

  10. Sandra January 21, 2009 at 10:45 am #

    Wow. I wish I had written that. I am, however, very glad I read it. Thanks, Moxie – you are a woman of words.

  11. ingrid January 22, 2009 at 2:22 pm #

    Wow, you’re on a roll. I’ve been more moved today by your words than I have been in by probably any others. Thank you!

  12. Foodycat January 22, 2009 at 3:24 pm #

    How very beautiful. Thank you!

  13. Melissa Wayne January 18, 2010 at 11:13 am #

    Nicely said. Love that!

  14. Ed Harvey January 20, 2010 at 12:39 am #

    Very Cool.


  1. Don’t Go Away Mad, Just Go Away « Not Going Postal - July 15, 2009

    […] The posts people seem to like the most around here are the one about my Facebook Friend who wanted to get nekkid, the one about my dogs on Twitter, and the sentimental one about our participation in the Martin Luther King, Jr. March. […]

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: