Before we begin the biographical series on MLK's life, I'd like to express a short disclaimer: we're on the outside looking in. What we know today is from books, articles, and photos: second-hand accounts. That said, only those closest to Dr. King know the real man and though you nor I will never know him like we know our own friends, we shan't tire to continue to understand and learn from one of the most influential voices of the 20th century.
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Before Martin Luther King, Jr. was anything, he was a human.
Before the speeches, marches, and protests, he lived in a world of what people then called "Negroes," a term alien to contemporary vocabulary. Born into lineages of pastors and share croppers, Martin (orginally named Michael) lived on the nicest "black" street in Atlanta, ate three healthy meals a day, and received an education in the public school system. His mother, a college graduate, washed his clothes and tucked him in at night. His dad taught him to open doors for ladies and how to say grace before dinner. From the outside looking in, his world was as perfect as it could be... but separate and unequal from the other half of American society.
Before the speeches, marches, and protests, he lived in a world of what people then called "Negroes," a term alien to contemporary vocabulary. Born into lineages of pastors and share croppers, Martin (orginally named Michael) lived on the nicest "black" street in Atlanta, ate three healthy meals a day, and received an education in the public school system. His mother, a college graduate, washed his clothes and tucked him in at night. His dad taught him to open doors for ladies and how to say grace before dinner. From the outside looking in, his world was as perfect as it could be... but separate and unequal from the other half of American society.
Imagine two worlds separated by an invisible line, and when that line becomes unclear, tear gas and fire hoses attempt to re-align the status quo. Racism and prejudice laced MLK's childhood memories. As a young boy he lost a white friend to the racism of the friend's parents. On hot days he had to find a "colored" drinking fountain. As Martin grew up he began to tread the invisible line between the two worlds, and he wasn't going to let tear gas and fire hoses stop him.
Decades after his death, we see Dr. King as a statue of marble. Smooth, illustrious, and flawless in every way. His image today is the result of a common phenomenon of human psychology. After someone dies, we only regale the good deeds and shining moments because it's shameful to speak ill of someone who in life did so much good, as if we're going to reverse their actions with our whispers. As a result, with each passing generation the legacy of someone long since passed becomes more resilient and less... human.
And if MLK was anything, he was human.
Passion and faith lit is soul. Words blossomed from his mouth and and transplanted into the hearts of listeners. He felt fury for his friends lying soaking wet and bruised in the streets because someone thought water could rinse away the Civil Rights Movement. The reverand held tight to his children, praying that some day they could share a water fountain with their white friends. He didn't begin his life with perfection and he didn't end it with such, and that's not a bad thing. He cried tears of anguish, smiled at the thought of love, and clenched his fists in anger. Some days his suit pants were wrinkly and maybe he picked the pickles off his burgers.
As a member of a generation on the other end of MLK's dreams, what does all of this mean for you? It means that if you have wrinkly pants, if you don't like pickles, or if you think your ideas are impossible, you can remember that your role model started somewhere. He or she was a human first, will remain a complex and flawed being, but you will remember that person for the change in your life despite the humanity of your hero.
Information source: biography.com "Martin Luther King, Jr."
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