The Things We Fear

If a man hasn't discovered something that he will die for, he isn't fit to live.
Martin Luther King, Jr., speech, Detroit, Michigan, June 23, 1963.

The surreal experience is one where you put yourself in a place where others have previously been and ask yourself that if you were there, what would your contribution be.

I put myself in that place today and came away with a feeling of knowing and not knowing, feeling and not feeling. To walk the streets of Memphis today was one of the most surreal and intriguing journeys I've ever been on. My recent trip to China is not even close. Around this time forty-two years ago, Dr King was giving his last speech to his flock at Mason Temple COGIC here in Memphis. I was nine years old on that fateful evening, one where Dr. King would cease to be living less than 24 hours later.

For me, a stranger, to have lived in the cities of Dr King's birth and death is surreal in itself. Here I am, a transplant from Charleston, SC setting my feelings on paper where one of our most treasured citizens perished. What am I doing here? Is this a part of my fate? All these questions swirling around in my head. A higher power has summoned me, guiding me to this place where a man, a movement perished almost a half century ago.

I stood on main street today chatting with a white man and woman, the latter owing an art shop in the middle of downtown and I could help but pause and revel in how far we've come. Forty-two years ago all three of us would have be targeted for destruction just for communicating with one another. But alas, this was Dr. King's dream that I could go to a Chinese establishment and be served a hot meal, like a regular human being and then commiserate with fellow citizens of another persuasion, culture and race. This was the dream, a dream fulfilled, a dream still in progress, a dream to form a more perfect union.

The picture of my Father also speaks volumes. It was taken a year after Dr. Kings death in his original burial place at South View cemetery in Atlanta, Ga. Ironically, this would be my first visit to Atlanta, one that foreshadowed years later what was to come.

My God brought me here because I was impartial, not to hate or forgive , but to see progress, letting me be the judge. Needless to say a tear came to my eye more than once. Why? Because I wished Dr. King could see, see his dream in progress. I know he's up there pleased, but still prodding that more needs to be done.

What racists tried to kill on April 4, 1968 was the dreamer. But Martin knew all along that this was not about him, this has always been about us, our nation. Forty-two years later the boy from 43 Line Street understands why he's here. My mission is to continue the dream of forming that more perfect union - to the end.