Martin Luther King Day

I watched the Georgetown v. syracuse game tonight on TV as I braided my daughters hair. I had tickets to the game, but forgot all about it until I flipped past it on the tube. Simply forgot. My day was shot as soon as I awoke - I also missed the Martin Luther King celebration I had planned to attend. My daughter's hair was awful, I couldn't take them in public until I did something with it. But then they got restless. Cabin fever set in. So we took them ice skating, an event which required a hat a tall times. After the skating, the feeding, the panpering, yelling, napping, I hadn't mentioned one word about Martin to my kids. Instead, I sat on the floor, braiding hair, silently pouting, upset that I had missed the one game that I spent the college basketball season waiting for with bated breath.

During a commercial a spotlight of Martin flashed on the screen. "Martin" I whispered, suddenly jarred back to reality.

"Today was his day mommy, and we did nothing to celebrate him." My hands stopped braiding. I had thought she was too young to really get it, so preoccupied with Disney and pbskids that she wouldn't even realize. Instead, I was shamed by the words of a child. "I made a book at school about his life. he wanted equality for all..." she went on, continuing to list his attributes, his accomplishments, his meaning to us as a race, to our nation. And the more she talked, the more ashamed I felt. Because, despite my desire to take credit, none of the information she recited was learned from me. Because, her school had laid fertile ground and I failed to water it. Because, not having her hair done just didn't seem like a valid excuse anymore. Because, there are so many things about Martin, about the movement, about her people that she should know already, that I keep waiting for some unknown time to share with her.

I am decended, on both sides, from slaves. And both sides have been traced to well before the Civil War. This is my land, this is my nation. We have had a family member serve in ever war since the American-Indian war (even when Black folks supposedly weren't allowed to serve). And the Civil Rights movement is just as much ours as it is anyone who holds this nation, with all its faults, dear. Why haven't I taught her that? What have I been thinking?

The truth is that the truth is ugly. And I wanted to spare her, for as long as I could. I hoped that I could shelter her reality. But she needs to know. I need to teach her and empower her with it. And the time is now.

So, I am still slightly irked about missing my precious game. But I am more touched by my daughters inquisitivenss, her blatant admonishment a wakeup call to me that it is time to teach and pass on. And I will start with Martin...