The wind gusted by, and my nose was numb by the time we crossed from the parking lot and entered the Visitor’s Center at the Martin Luther King Jr. Historic Site. It was a little unfortunate my step-mom and I had picked the coldest day in weeks to visit because the MLK Historic Site is a collection of buildings up and down the block where Dr. King’s childhood home and church are located. The facilities required walking. The weather required a hat.
While peeling my gloves off in the Visitor’s Center, a helpful ranger told us that guided tours of Dr. King’s birth home are available for free but they’re first come first serve and you have to reserve tickets. Unfortunately for us, the next tour wasn’t until noon, and we had to move on before then. There was still the Visitor Center, the Tombs, exhibits from the life of Dr. and Mrs. King at Freedom Hall, as well as Historic Ebeneezer Baptist Church where Dr. King served as co-pastor with his father. More than enough to fill a Sunday morning.
Passing through twelve years of metro-Atlanta public schools, I’d learned about Dr. King and the Civil Rights movement extensively. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t expecting to learn anything new during my visit. It would be interesting to see the buildings where Dr. King actually lived but the information would be a refresher course.
I stepped into the first stage of the Visitor Center’s overview of King’s life: Segregation. Photos, panels, and video explained the explicitly and brutally divided world Martin grew up in. On the video screen I watched footage of a young girl, book bag in hand, enter her school escorted by Federal marshals. The girl is Ruby Bridges, the first African-American student to attend an integrated elementary school in Louisiana. Well, integrated isn’t quite accurate. Bridges was the only African-American student in an all-white school.
I’d watched the footage before, but never as a mother.
This time I saw a little girl with a bow in her hair, not much taller than my own daughter, walk alone into her school. No friends, no teachers. Only four armed Federal Marshals protecting her. She barely cleared the waist of the men around her. Ruby was six years old that day. My eyes filled with tears, and I ducked my head to keep anyone from noticing.
I left the images of children berated and under armed escort and moved on to the section on Dr. King’s early activism. His first role of national significance came when he helped organize the Montgomery Bus Boycott in the wake of Rosa Park’s arrest. It was 1955. Dr. King was twenty-six.
I’d moved on from Ruby in hopes of being on more palatable ground of grown-ups being horrendous to other grown-ups, but I was staring at the face of a person whom, if I met over coffee, I would tease and welcome into adulthood. How’s that whole responsibility thing going? When I looked at the photo of Dr. King handcuffed and bent over a police desk, I didn’t see a great man. I saw a very young man.
I scanned the other photos. A group of non-violent protesters at a sit-in. Freedom riders. Marchers with their arms linked. Dr. King attending a leadership meeting of the Student Non-violent Coordinating Committee. There it was in the name: Student Non-violent Coordinating Committee. The walls were covered with pictures of kids and young people. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty year-olds. College kids were the driving force of the Civil Rights movement. Seeing the Civil Rights Movement from the perspective of an adult older than most of its leaders were at the time shocked me.
I’d learned about Dr. King and other leaders, John Lewis, Julian Bond, Andrew Young through the eyes of a child. I’d been told they were great men, and to a ten-year old, the footage and photos showed established adults. One grown-up is equal to any other grown-up. Anyone who has reached adulthood knows this couldn’t be farther from the truth.
As I wandered through the Visitor Center, King’s church, and the other buildings, the entire site became a testament to the power of young people. Kids, teens, college students and freshly minted men and women in their twenties acted on their beliefs that the world could change and could be made better. They refused to accept the world they were about to inherit.
It seems to be a favorite past time of adults to complain about the youth. There is certainly no shortage of criticism being hurled currently at young people with their selfie taking smart phones. But I did learn something during my visit to King Center. Never underestimate youth. Young people have the power of infinite possibility. Their vision hasn’t been narrowed by time. Martin Luther King Jr. did not imagine himself on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial when he called on his congregation to boycott the buses. With his twenty-six years, he imagined a more just world and acted to make it so.
The quote on Dr. King’s tomb is “Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty I’m Free at last.” The dates are 1929-1968. He was thirty-nine when assassinated, a young & great man.
This post is part of an amazing series on Martin Luther King Jr. being hosted by Multicultural Kids Blog. Check out the link for fabulous educational activities and international perspectives on the legacy of Dr. King.
Oh Brynn, what a memorable and eye-opening moment you had! My tears have started to fall very quickly into your post. Youth is the key of a better world. When we restrain their creativity and their humanity, it’s the whole human race we strangle. Those seeking power above all know that and do everything to prevent changes not in their profit, and it’s our mission in this life, as parents, to both protect our children from them and empower their life so that they will overcome the trials and brighten the world. We have to be lights and share it with the children, make them see what other youngs people like Martin Luther King Jr did in the past. They can do great things and they will do.
Eolia, thank you so much for your kind words. I definitely teared up while visiting the King Center and I’m glad I was able to convey how powerful the exhibit and my realization was. Becoming a parent added an entirely new filter through which I process the world around me. I’d love to go back through high school and college with that new vision. I’m sure my revelation about the Dr. King and Civil Rights would only be the first of many.