A Grandfather's Story on Martin Luther King Day

The day started average enough. We gathered our things, drove a few miles south and east and arrived at their house. The women worked inside on things that had to do with lunch. I've not asked what their conversation was about. On the outside, the men and the grandsons grilled domestic buffalo and venison from the fall's harvest. The wind blew, and we shivered as we talked about gameboys, imaginary things, and today's political scene.

Lunch was quite a spread. A wonderful grandson's prayer, nicely grilled food, and the extras were there. The conversation was lively and interesting as it always is at that house.

Then, we moved from the dining table to the living room, and I was told, "Read this book." I knew I was in trouble. The book, Martin's Big Words, was suddenly in my hand and a lump was in my throat. Grandparents sat on the couch with grandchildren sandwiched between us. Parents observed from an adjacent chair. I turned to the first page, began to read, and then the lump in throat and tears came, and the words, "I can't read this; here, you read it." Their grandmother read the book as the boys looked on. Afterwards, for a few moments, parents and grandparents chatted with the young about the man in the book.

Then, we shifted back to the dining room table for a wonderful experience of "I Have a Dream," complete with paper, crayons, a stapler that wouldn't work correctly, and words and ideas unleashed. For me, the dream was building with the help of God and many others that for which the Chickasaw Nation had brought me here. For my wife, these childrens' grandmother, the dream was about building a Christ-like home. We all completed our dreams project. Ours are hanging on the doors open into this study.

Then, the oldest grandson was dispatched to another room to bring back the speech, not just any speech, but the words of Dr. King's "I Have A Dream" speech from the March on Washington, 1963, words which have stirred me and countless other over the last forty-five years. The young lad sat there in his seat, just to my right, reading the words I've heard many times before. I'd never heard him read them. He's so young. He reads so well, and he's reading well, words spoken that day on the Mall in DC. The tears rolled once more. Afterwards, we talked more about tears and stories and justice, and other things about making the world a better place.

So, what started out to be an amazing day honoring Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., became an even more amazing day in one small corner of the universe. We discussed things of substance, told stories of significance, and amazed at the wisdom and creativity of the young.

Yes, Dr. King, I, too, have a dream, that someday my grandchildren's children and "little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers," and that all of God's children, every color dark or light, will know that they are loved and that their dreams can come true as well.