The Hero of My Lifetime

Melancholy…. I didn’t acknowledge the dull sense of sadness I was experiencing until the sun was low in the late afternoon sky.  Hours of listening to my Christian/gospel music this Sunday at home my spirit was lifted, I thought I was content.   But, as it does each year when the Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. birthday is celebrated, melancholy visited me.

Today, my mind relived the mayhem during my lifetime that was Dr. King’s non-violent Civil Rights Movement; saw and heard the people, mostly black but many whites also--all ages - men, women, and teenagers, spat upon, attacked by dogs, hosed, jailed, beat, kicked, maimed, even killed as they persisted in demanding fair treatment, equal rights for all in the democracy we lived in called America. 

“Get your education”, my daddy told me as a child, “one day you will have opportunities; will not be discriminated against because of your race.  America will change.” My father died in 1960. He saw only the beginning of the last chapters of concentrated attention by Dr. King and so many other folk dedicated to right wrongs and bring about justice and social change.   I’m fully aware that due to their courageous sacrifices, and me being prepared, my father’s words became my good life.   (Referencing Black Star Girl, my memoir.)

Yes, remembering Dr. King, shot by a sniper at 39 years of age, and his remarkable leadership from at least the age of 26, fills me with melancholy, but also tremendous thanksgiving.   Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. is, indeed, the hero of my lifetime.