Martin Luther King, Jr., was not born on the 17th of January — but I was. MLK was born of the 15th. So was Drew Brees. Unlike Drew and I, the celebration of MLK’s birthday floats around. That’s how you can tell he reached a slightly higher level than most mortals. In fact he’s the only American to be honored with a national holiday who wasn’t a president. As for Drew, he won the Superbowl. I’m just happy to be alive. I’m 44 years old today. My birthday only coincides with MLK Day when it falls on a Monday, which I would guess is approximately every seven years. The last time this happened was in 2005.
Just for the record, here’s a photo of me sitting in front of this computer writing these words.
My hair is longer than it’s been in years. (Nine years in fact.)
So far, this birthday is looking quite a bit better than #43. (Hm, #44 better than #43, what could that possibly portend?) I got to sleep in a bit, Xy fixed me a nice breakfast, my daughter sand me “Happy Birthday,” and we’ve got some steaks to grill this afternoon.
But even better than that, I got to see the word “nonviolence” on the front page of this morning’s paper. That’s a very welcome present. It seems that in the wake of recent events in Arizona, Dr. King’s philosophies are being reexamined. I sure hope so.
Yesterday evening, just as we were sitting down to dinner, I was trying to explain the concept of MLK Day to Persephone, and she exclaimed, unprompted, “People was equal!” Give her a break on the grammar, she’s not yet three years old. I was doubly amazed: first, that she had any grasp of the concept; and second, that she’d actually learned something at daycare. That was another good birthday present.