Mommy, They Killed a Black Man Today

It was a quiet afternoon in an even quieter neighborhood. In a few minutes, my youngest daughter, age six, would be bounding up the walk having leapt from the bottom step of the big orange school bus. I smiled knowing she would arrive dragging her backpack in one hand, a fist full of crumpled papers in the other, with her pink and white beaded hair bouncing above her ebony forehead.

I cherished greeting Mary at the door and joining her in a snack as we unraveled her school day over a juice box and a granola bar. But, as I looked through the window towards the corner bus stop, I knew immediately something was wrong…really, really wrong this day.

Mary’s boots barely touched on the last step of the bus before she hit the cement curb, running. Her mouth was wide open, with fright twisting her usually happy face. Her almond eyes intently focused directly toward the door of our home. She cut across the snowy yard, flying up the stairs and into my arms as I opened the door.

“Mommy, they killed a black man today!” she blurted. “They killed him!”

“What? Who?” I said, quite certain I heard her incorrectly.

“They killed a black man. His name is Martin. They killed Martin because he is black. Are they going to kill me, Mommy?”

I drew her tightly against my breast, feeling her body stiff with fear. Gently, I wiped tears of terror from her beautiful brown eyes.

“Sh-h-h-, baby, it’s okay, you’re safe,” I reassured her with the tips of my white fingers stroking her thickly plaited hair.

“You are safe,” I repeated, kissing the tears from her cheeks. “No one will hurt you. Let’s have some juice and talk about it, okay?”

I rose and turned toward the refrigerator and stopped: The kitchen wall calendar said Monday, January 17, 2001: the day the United States honored Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

My little daughter, newly adopted from a foreign country, had neither the cultural background nor the maturity of age to help her comprehend that the “news” of Martin Luther King's death was American history. What her six-year-old mind told her was that simply because of the color of her skin, she was in danger in this new land.

I spoke to her of Dr. King, Jr., and how he had died years before. How he and so many others, black and white, worked tirelessly so that all people could have equality and justice, and most of all, safety wherever they lived in the United States.

Ten years later, I stood alone in front of the Reflecting Pool surrounding the tombs of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Coretta Scott King on a quiet Atlanta morning. I wept. I said a prayer of gratitude for their bravery on behalf of millions of unknown individuals like my daughter and me.

They as servant leaders, and countless others like them, were the reason I could assure my daughter with the words “you are safe,” when she was so terrified years ago. This safety is now guaranteed by our Constitution, but it can never be taken for granted.

Tomorrow, January 16, 2012, is the 26th anniversary of the Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. national holiday.

Dr. King often asked his audiences, “What are you doing for others?” I repeat his question in hopes you will see how any act you do in service to others is one more step toward peacemaking and eliminating any kind of “ism” that still exists in our beautiful nation.  

Peace Be In all, Jane