...when you don't see the whole staircase"...tomorrow, Martin Luther King Jr. would have been 93, had he not been assassinated in Memphis in 1968...my father, who passed in 2002, would have been 93 too, born eleven days earlier...sometimes, those simple mathematical facts help put things in practical perspective...I think back to 1968...I was 8...when remembering life with my dad then...it is sobering and enlightening to realize how young MLK was when he was gunned down at the Lorraine Motel...and awe inspiring to grasp how much he'd accomplished and left as a legacy at 39...but I am thinking less of the fiery orator...passionate preacher...and more about that father and husband...a young man by today's standards...39...my father taking me to the park...teaching me to shoot hoops...ice skate...dance...helping with homework...especially math, which he had a natural aptitude for...Dr. King had four children when he died...four...I think about them on this holiday we use as both commemoration and as a day of service...the three children, now adults, who are still with us...and wish for them not the quotable words that have become part of his story...but of their private memories...the small moments that sustain us all when loss becomes the daily fabric of who we are and have become...I hope they have that quiet space to remember parks and swings...and holding hands in church on Sunday mornings...the few blessings his short life afforded them...the speeches, and non-violent teachings are for us...those memories are for them...and all those staircases they have had to climb since 1968...
